


The Pathologist, the Detective, and the Trickster

by Radar_Girl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Space, Asgard (Marvel), Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Comedy, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fantasy, Father Christmas - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Ice Elves, Ice Skating, Jealous Sherlock, Magic, Married Couple, Married Loki/Sigyn, Monsters, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Reindeer, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Santa Clause, Santa's Elves, Santa's Workshop, Science Fiction, Shapeshifting, Snow, Visiting Santa Claus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radar_Girl/pseuds/Radar_Girl
Summary: Molly is worried that her life is stuck in something of a rut. She goes to work and she sometimes shares a takeaway with Sherlock, but that's about it.Thank goodness, she rescues an injured cat. An injured cat who can talk. An injured, talking cat who happens to be Loki, god of Mischief. And he needs their help.





	1. One

 

**Chapter One**

 

So far it had been the most of mundane of days for Doctor Molly Hooper, and could be easily summed up as: tedious meeting; too much paperwork; not enough time for lunch; and, finally, training on how to interact with recently bereaved people in a manner that was both professional and suitably sympathetic. Nothing that she hadn't done a thousand times before. Fortunately, things were soon going to pick up.

 

Not that she didn't enjoy her life, her career - she _did!_ But there were some days (like today) where she was worried that she had fallen into a rut, but was too scared to admit it to herself. In fact, Molly found it very telling about her state of mind, that she actually enjoyed the disruptions brought about by the heavy snow that had unexpectedly dumped itself over the capital. It gave the city's day-to-day routine a much needed shake-up as people (herself included) were forced to find alternative ways of getting into work on time as public transport could not be relied upon. This in turn gave people something new to discuss in great depth, as if they had never seen snow before, and that in turn bestowed a temporary comradeliness between individuals, even strangers, as they were united together in the struggle against Mother Nature.

 

She needed to get a life.

 

She continued to trudge along, decked out in weather-appropriate attire, and trying not to slip on the ice and make a fool of herself. Her life in a nutshell.

 

Molly's phone _pinged_ in her bag, and while many would have ignored it until they had reached home, Molly tore off her glove in spite of the bitter cold, and pulled it out. There was only one person who would text her at this time in the afternoon.

 

**I've us ordered takeaway. SH**

 

Molly couldn't help but smile at the bluntness of the text. That was just Sherlock's way, though. In his mind, there was no need to ask her if she wanted takeaway or not, and, if she did, what she would like; he _just_ knew that she would want Chinese and that was that. She was surprised that he had even bothered to inform her; sometimes he didn't.

 

She replied: **Thanks. Back in about 15 mins.**

 

His next text came through quickly: **Obviously. SH**

 

Sherlock Holmes: what an unusual man. He lived in the flat above Molly's, and although most people found the private detective unbearable, over the five years that they had known one another, they had a formed a fairly stead friendship. Sometimes he invited Molly to assist him on cases, and other times he didn't. Sometimes they shared a takeaway, watched TV, played pranks on the landlady, and perhaps, worst of all (for Molly at least) he would show up at the hospital and demand the use of the lab, of the equipment, body parts to experiment on...and other times they barely saw one another.

 

And that was that.

 

[Sigyn...]

 

Molly came to an abrupt halt on the pavement. She was sure that she heard a voice inside her head, but that wasn't possible, was it? Unless her mind was playing tricks on her. Now that was possible.

 

She managed another two steps before she heard it again.

 

[Sigyn...]

 

The voice had been that of an adult male, but weak sounding, drifting off at the end. Nothing at all like her own inner voice. In any case, who or what was a sig..siggy...whatever it had been?

 

Molly looked around. There were other pedestrians marching along, trying to get home as fast as possible, but none were looking her way. Besides, hadn't the voice come from behind the wheelie bins? This was very odd as there simply was not enough space for a person to be hiding back there.

 

Molly hesitated. She had seen enough TV and films to know that there were some situations when you should never allow curiosity to reign, because that's how so many unfortunate extras get killed off – eaten or murdered, usually - by some hideous alien or monster, and this was definitely one of those situations. So, she should just walk away and forget about it, right?

 

Except that Molly could never walk away from someone in need. And the voice had sounded much in need of assistance. Confident that no one would challenge her actions, Molly hauled one of the wheelie bins forward and peered into the gap between the back of the bin and the brick wall.

 

She hadn't paused to consider what she had been expecting to find (aside from a flesh-eating alien), but never mind, because as soon as she saw the cat, Molly forgot all about the voice in her head.

 

It was a black cat, with fur so dark that Molly hadn't spotted it at first. It was lying on it's side, paws stretched out before it. Molly couldn't be sure if was alive or dead. She pulled the bin forward another couple of inches so that she could examine it more closely.

 

The animal lover in her was thrilled to find that the cat was breathing, however there were two things which worried her: the first, was the vertical gash on the cat's left side, running from its back down to its stomach; the second, was that the cat's ears and the tip of its tail were a dark green.

 

Well, she didn't have much choice, did she? She wrapped her scarf around the cat's middle before tucking it inside her coat and hurrying home, back to 221C Baker Street.

 

And that was that.

 

* * *

 

_AN: Thank you for reading! LOL, does anyone else remember when Tom Hiddleston was rumoured to be the secret Holmes brother? I liked Euros, but TH would have been so much in the fun in the role._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat starts talking.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

“Thanks for letting me use your table and equipment,” Molly said, for the umpteenth time as she neatly finished off the stitching the cat's wound closed. Some found her of habit of verbalising her gratitude over and over again irritating, but Sherlock Holmes rather liked it as made him feel important. “Although, I don't really know why you own so much medical equipment...” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Please, tell me that you don't perform your own surgery.”

 

Sherlock shrugged, wearing a smug grin as if he were reminiscing over some fond and distant memory. Then, nudging Molly aside, he opened up his magnifying-glass to examine the cat's olive green ears and tail more closely.

 

“Well, his fur hasn't been painted,” he said. “Or dyed....These might be his natural markings.”

 

Molly snorted as she snapped her gloves off. “Oh, please, a green cat? Impossible.”

 

“That wound, though...nasty looking, wasn't it? Not clean enough to be a knife and yet I can't think it possible that it came from another animal...Any thoughts, Molly?”

 

Molly had none, so she went to sink to wash her hands, wrinkling her nose at the dirty cups and plates piled up in there.The rest of the flat was in a similar state of disarray with piles of books, newspapers, magazines (an eccentric mixture of gossip and scientific), clothes, and other odds and ends cluttering up every bit of available space.

 

“One day I'm going to help you clean this place,” she told him. “But, you'll be doing most of the work. You could lose an elephant in here.”

 

“Now that you mention it, I have misplaced my spare laptop.”

 

“Again?”

 

Having washed her hands, she placed Toby's cat carrier onto the table and carefully placed the stray inside onto the blanket and latched it closed.

 

“I'd better take him downstairs,” she said, sounding apologetic. “I want to keep a close eye on him and I've got busy day tomorrow, anyway. I'll have to take him to the vet in the morning and then go to work if I can. And with all the snow, I'll be walking so I'll have to set out early...”

 

“To the vet? But, you've done such a good job on him.”

 

Molly smiled. “Not really....it's just a patch-up. And I'll need to track his owner down, if he has one.”

 

Sherlock held his hands behind his back. “Perhaps I could help you with that?”

 

Once again Molly sounded apologetic as she said, “There isn't much you could do. He might be microchipped. And if not I'll just have to put posters up. He has a very distinctive look, so it shouldn't be hard.”

 

“No,” Sherlock agreed. He looked liked he wanted to say something else. Eventually, he blurted out, “Uh, take your food with you? Or you could...” He wanted to ask her to stay, but found that his mouth had dried up. Instead he thrust the bag of Chinese food towards Molly.

 

“Oh, thanks. Almost forget. I'll pay you back tomorrow.”

 

“Forget it. You can pay for me next time.”

 

“Yeah, course. Night, Sherlock.”

 

“Molly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock waited until he had heard Molly's footsteps descend to the bottom of the stairs before banging his head against the fridge, snarling, “Idiot! You should have told her. Why don't you ever say anything? You were going to say it tonight, so why didn't you?...I love you, Molly Hooper....How difficult is that?”

 

His fridge suffered a lot in this way.

 

* * *

 

 

Molly placed the cat carrier at a comfortable distance in front of the fire, before settling on the sofa with a glass of wine. Toby was most interested in their guest, sniffing around the box before curling up next to Molly.

 

“I guess it's just you and me and our friend over there, Tobe.”

 

[If I am indeed your friend, then you could at least offer me a glass of that delicious smelling wine.]

 

Molly gasped as she sat bolt upright, sloshing the red wine all over herself.

 

[Or you could just become hysterical. That's fine, too.]

 

There was no mistaking the origin of the voice this time. It had come from the black cat with green tipped ears, and it was staring straight at her.

* * *

 

 

_AN: Thank you for reading!_

_There was the famous Green Cat of Bulgaria...not really naturally green, as it got itself coated in emerald paint somehow._

_Sherlock wants Molly; Molly wants Sherlock; and Loki just wants a drink....will these complex issues ever get resolved? Cliffhanger!_

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat turns back in Loki.

 

**Chapter Three**

 

“You can talk?”

 

In her shock, Molly had slid to the floor and crawled across the floor on her knees to the cat box. Toby had scarped to the bedroom, little coward that he was, nearly knocking over the miniature Christmas tree as he went. The stray was sitting up and peering out with sharp, emerald eyes, somehow looking disdainful though its fur and whiskers.

 

[Talk? No, not in this Aspect. _Talking_ is dependent upon the ability to _speak_ spoken words, which felines are unable to do. Unless you happen to count mewing, purring, and hissing as speaking, which, I for one, do not. Ask me if I am able to converse telepathically.]

 

“Are you?” Molly squeaked.

 

[Yes,] the cat replied simply. [Now, why don't you let me out of this cage? I dislike being locked up.]

 

“Sorry, yes, of course.” Molly lifted the latch and the cat immediately sprung out. It turned a few circles, stretching out each limb, as well as its tail. But, then it suddenly came to halt, freezing in place.

 

[Why does my side itch? What did you do to me, mortal?]

 

There was fear in its voice now. And yet it was almost comical how it attempted to paw at its wound, only to overbalance and roll onto its back. Molly didn't laugh though.

 

“Stop that! You'll pull your stitches out.” She reached out a hand to the cat, but it angrily swiped its paw at her, hissing angrily and bearing all its teeth.

 

[And what exactly did you sew inside of me, witch?]

 

Molly held up her hands in an demonstration of innocence.

 

“I'm not a witch. I found you injured, so I gave you stitches – to close the wound. And I don't know who you are, so please calm down!”

 

The cat hissed angrily again, but turned away from Molly. It arched its back and growled and whined, making odd little hops across the carpet.

 

“W-what are you doing? Are you okay?”

 

[No! I can't....Argh! I need to turn back, but I can't quite remember....it's like forgetting a name or word...it sits on the tip of your tongue and then...]

 

“Turn back into what? Who are you?”

 

[Got it!]

 

The cat's form suddenly shimmered with a green light; it twisted and grew, turning into a dark haired man with sparkling emerald eyes.

 

Molly fell back on her bottom, her mouth hanging open.

 

The man grinned at her.

 

“I am Loki, god of Mischief,” he told her with a smirk. “I must ask you for sanctuary. And if you feel the urge to offer me a sacrifice, I rather like chocolates. In fact, can I have some chocolate now, please? I'm really hungry. We can't get chocolate in the Nine Realms; the magic in the atmosphere causes it to burn immediately. Don't know why. It's on my to-investigate list, though.”

 

“Uhhh....” Molly said, unable to tear her eyes away.

 

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. “Don't tell me that you don't have any chocolate. You're a middle-class woman in her thirties – you live off chocolate and wine and read Bridget Jones. I know because I also love chocolate and wine and Bridget Jones. Again, don't know why. That should probably be at the top of my to-investigate list. In any case, it's Christmas....so....what are you waiting for?”

 

“I have chocolate....” Molly said, slowly. “But, you're....you're...”

 

“Fabulous, I know.”

 

“Naked,” Molly whispered. She fixed her eyes on the overhead light, silently hoping that Sherlock would find some reason to come downstairs.

 

“Oh,” Loki replied flatly, looking down at himself. His eyes suddenly widened. “My side is bleeding! That's unusual. It's been years since I last bled. Apart from...you know...the time of the month. If I happen to be a woman, that is. I'm under oath to always revert to male aspect should I start experiencing PMS as it makes me want to destroy whole realities and the Aesir don't want to have to deal with that every four weeks. Well, you know how it is.”

 

He pressed a hand over the gash in his side, but his blood slowly oozed out over his fingers and dripped onto the carpet.

 

“I feel dizzy,” he complained, suddenly pale. “And I feel like I'm forgetting something...something important...”

 

If Molly had felt lost before, she was all at sea now, completely bamboozled by the man's incessant fast chatter. That and the fact that he had been a cat two minutes ago; she was still stuck on that. But rather than trying to figure it all out Molly instead decided to cling to the practical.

 

“You ripped the stitches out when you changed. You should sit down while I'll fetch the first aid kit...and my dressing-gown...”

 

“Why?”Loki asked, falling heavily onto the sofa cushions.

 

Molly flushed red. “So, you can cover up.”

 

“Oh,” Loki repeated, not looking amused. “I forget how prudish mortals are. Well, if my body offends you that much...”

 

“I didn't say it offended me!” Molly blurted out. “It's just that -”

 

She broke off as Loki shimmered green once again, a black suit with a dark blue shirt appearing over him.

 

“Better?”

 

It was better, but the calm Molly had affected earlier was beginning to give way to a full blown freaking out session – she could feel it rising in her blood. She needed to get out of the room; she needed Sherlock.

 

“I – uh – need the loo. And the first aid kit. Back in a sec.”

 

She all but ran away.

 

“What is your name?” Loki called after her. “You didn't tell me.”

 

“Molly!”

 

As soon as she had the bathroom door firmly locked behind her, Molly called Sherlock on her phone.

 

“What's wrong?” he asked, picking up after only one ring. “Is there another spider in your bath?”

 

“No. I -”

 

“Oh, so is it the cat?”

 

“Yes, it's the cat!” she snarled into the phone. And then realising how loud she had spoken, looked widely around in case Loki had followed her (it would be an odd thing to do, but she wasn't going to rule out the possibility that he could and would float through the wall to attack her) and then lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Except that it's not a cat any more! It turned into a naked man and now he's a man in suit and he talks at a hundred miles per hour going on about chocolate and PMS and he said that he's Loki – you know, god of Mischief and lies - so I -I've no idea what's going on any more!”

 

“Just calm down -”

 

“YOU CALM DOWN, SHERLOCK!” Molly bellowed. She clamped a hand over her mouth before hissing, “Having a shape-shifting weirdo in the living room is a thousand times worse than a spider in a bath! I'd take a spider in my bath any day over this! In fact, I think this incident has cured me of my very specific spider-in-the-bath phobia as it's nothing compared to this!” She nervously drummed her feet up and down on the floor. “Just come down here, will you?”

 

“I'm coming,” Sherlock replied, quietly. “Just stay...actually, never mind...I'm coming.”

 

It only took the detective a few seconds to bolt down the stairs, fire-poker in hand, and to open Molly's door with his spare key. He reached the living room at the same time as Molly returned to it, clutching hold of the first aid box to her chest as if it were a shield.

 

Loki looked between them with a slightly bored look. He was still on the sofa, hand pressed to his side, and looking more pale than before.

 

“You must be Sherlock,” he said, calmly. “I heard Molly shouting your name.”

 

Sherlock side-stepped in front of Molly, holding the fire-poker aloft, although Loki didn't look much of a threat.

 

“That's correct,” he answered, coolly. “And you are Loki. I'm familiar with the myths surrounding you, King of Lies, Trickster, Mother of Sleipnir...”

 

A smile stretched across Loki's face.

 

“You're holding a weapon, and Molly, a first aid box. Do you intend to beat me then heal me? I've always admired British hospitality. So warm.”

 

Molly placed her arm in front of Sherlock, forcing him to – if reluctantly – lower the fire-poker.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said. “We're just not used to... meeting people like you....”

 

Since she had allowed herself to panic a bit in the toilet and now that Sherlock was by her side, she suddenly a felt a lot more relaxed about the whole bizarre situation.

 

“There's none like me.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock demanded. “What happened to you?”

 

“I'm not sure...I don't remember...”

 

Molly frowned. She was sure that the colour of Loki's eyes had suddenly altered for a second; a bright flash of colour that came and went in a heartbeat.

 

“Going by your accents,” Loki continued, “I would say that we are in London. Is that right?”

 

“Yes. London, Westminster, Marylebone, 221 Baker Street,” Sherlock replied in a clipped tone. “Afraid, I'm struggling to understand _your_ accent.”

 

Loki shrugged his shoulders, wincing as he did so.

 

“But, my mind...it's in a fog....Argh!” He had suddenly doubled-up, clutching at his side.

 

Molly ran forward to kneel beside him on the floor. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “Let me see.”

 

Loki lifted up his shirt. The bleeding had stopped, but wound itself had turned an angry red.

 

“I'm not used to pain,” he admitted, with a wry smile. “My kind are not so easily harmed.”

 

“I'm going to clean this up, and then put a bandage over it,” Molly said. “Is that okay?”

 

“Is Sherlock your boyfriend?”

 

The question caused a red flush to spread over Molly's cheeks.

 

“We're not dating!” Sherlock retorted, a little too loudly.

 

“But you live in the same building?”

 

“Which is divided into three different flats, apartments,” Molly explained, dabbing at Loki's wound. “We're neighbours.”

 

“Friends,” Sherlock added, quickly. “For five years.”

 

“I see. That's a long time.”

 

“A long time for what?”

 

“For being friends. You must be really good friends to have stuck together for so long.”

 

It was Sherlock's turn to look embarrassed.

 

“Are you sure that you remember nothing?” he asked, sharply. “About how you wound up here, who attacked you, anything?”

 

Loki shook his head.

 

Sherlock began pacing, deep in thought.

 

“Sit up,” Molly told Loki, as she pulled a bandage out of its packet. “What about your family?” She thought back to the little she knew about Norse mythology and its pantheon of gods. “Odin. Will he come and get you?”

 

Loki chuckled.

 

“And there's no one else? No one who might be worried that you've disappeared?”

 

She squeaked when Loki took hold of her hand, carefully peeling the disposable glove off, and raising it to his lips.

 

“You are very sweet to be concerned about me. Thank you.”

 

He lightly pressed his lips to her knuckles. Molly was too stunned to react.

 

They both flinched as the fire-poker suddenly landed on the sofa next to Loki.

 

Sherlock had pressed his hands together, wildfire dancing in his eyes. Molly knew that look all too well. Sherlock Holmes was about to take on a case.

 

He paused in his pacing to say, “Mr Loki, I need you upstairs in my rooms right now!”

 

Loki glanced at Molly, who simply looked away to hide her smile.

 

“I beg you pardon?” the trickster asked.

 

“Upstairs, now!”

 

Loki lent back on the sofa. “Clearly, I was wrong about British hospitality.”

 

“He has a chair...a special client's chair...” Molly explained, packing away the first aid kit. “Just go along with it. Can you manage the stairs?”

 

 

* * *

 

_AN: Thank you for reading!_

_Loki has properly arrived, and all he wants for Christmas is chocolate and wine. And possibly Bridget Jones' Diary on DVD?!_

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes on Loki's case

 

**Chapter Four**

 

“Wow. It's a pig-sty,” was Loki's reaction on entering 221 B. “You could conceal a bilgesnipe in here.”

 

“That's what I'm always saying – sort of.”

 

Sherlock hurried to remove a stack of mismatched books from the clients' chair and waved for Loki to sit down. However, the trickster had always suffered a terrible aversion to doing what was asked of him, but he did love to read, and so instead he made a bee-line to the book shelf, skirting around the clients' chair and completely ignoring Sherlock.

 

Naturally, Sherlock was annoyed, because although he also hated being told what to do, he also hated it when other people refused to do as _he_ told them to. If Loki's family had been on hand to offer Sherlock support from the sidelines, they would have advised him that bribery was the surest and quickest method of securing Loki's obedience.

 

Molly, meanwhile, had settled herself into the cosy armchair – her armchair, really, as it was the one she habitually sat in – notebook ready and waiting patiently for the show to begin. The show were Loki would finally submit to their help, tell them his story, and then Sherlock would dazzle them all with a stunning outpouring of insightful deductions. It never got old.

 

However, Loki was not following the usual pattern. He was engrossed in a _In A New System of Chemical Philosophy._

 

“Sherlock's a detective,” Molly suddenly announced, brightly. “In case you're wondering why he has a clients' chair...”

 

Loki turned a page. “Oh, I see. I thought that he was something else entirely.” He looked up to wink at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock rarely looked flustered, but he did now. Molly had to hide her smile behind her hand.

 

“I am a Consulting Detective,” he said, with more than a small hint of pride.

 

“Which is?”

 

Loki had turned to face him; Molly saw him slyly pocketing the book. She coughed. The book was returned to the shelf, in an equally sly manner.

 

“It means that I am often called upon to assist private detectives and the police with their own cases. I rely on the methods of observation and deduction.”

 

“Like Poe's Dupin?”

 

Molly winced. Sherlock never liked to be compared to the fictional detective.

 

Sherlock's face took on a smug look. “Better.”

 

“Even more so that Hercule Poirot?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, confidently.

 

Loki rested one arm on the mantelpiece as he asked, “And how do you compare yourself to Inspector Endeavour Morse?”

 

“If you're going go through all the fictional detectives then we will be here all night! But, rest assured, I am the best. Aren't I, Molly?”

 

This shook Molly out of her daydream. She had been too busy staring at the clutter on the mantelpiece.

 

“Uh, yes, he is.”

 

“And I would like to help you with your mystery – of how you came to be attacked and by who. So, Mr Loki, why don't you sit down and tell us everything that you can remember?”

 

Loki looked defiant. “Why should I?”

 

“Because you need us.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, you could just get up and leave. You're free to leave any time you like. How could we stop you, a god? And yet you are injured and all alone and with no memory of what happened to you or how you got you here. And as for your wound...Can't be easy to make a god bleed...Something brought you to London, which is my domain. If you want revenge against whoever hurt you then you'll need our help.”

 

“I wouldn't require your assistance with that.”

 

“True. And yet on the other hand – well, technically your right wrist – may be your reason to reconsider.”

 

Sherlock chuckled at the surprised look on Loki's face. The trickster had pulled back his sleeve to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, decorated with an intricate pattern of swirls and dots.

 

“It only appeared on your wrist when you kissed Molly's hand,” Sherlock explained. “You've been fiddling with it throughout this whole conversation. Sentimental item, perhaps?”

 

Loki was staring wide-eyed at the bracelet, slowly moving it over his wrist.

 

“Can't remember...” he whispered. “It's...it's...”

 

“The stakes are clearly higher than you think,” Sherlock told him. “Let us help you.”

 

Loki looked at him sharply. “And in return you want what? I don't have any Earth money.”

 

“For me the game is it's own reward. And I've never helped a god before. Go on it's Christmas.”

 

“It could be dangerous.”

 

“I'm already sold on this case; no need to over do it.”

 

For a moment, Loki merely stared at the detective; clearly, he was trying to make his mind up. Then, silently, Loki walked over to the clients' chair and sat down. Molly clicked her pen on, posing it above the paper.

 

“Go on then, Tin-Tin, ask me your questions.”

 

Sherlock chuckled again. “Not how I do things. You tell me your life story and I'll shout at you if you start to bore me.”

 

“You really think that I could possibly be boring?”

 

Sherlock smiled, but said nothing.

 

Loki returned to playing with his bracelet as he spoke.

 

“For most of my life I have lived in Asgard, my parents being Odin and Frigga, the rulers of the Nine Realms. But twenty years ago I was sent to Alfheim by my parents, to live among the elves there and to maintain the peace between our two worlds. Those years have passed quickly and now is now and now I'm here. Any questions?”

 

“You're not exactly forthcoming with the finer details are you?” Sherlock grumbled.

 

Molly was still struggling over the spelling of Alfheim. In the end she settled for jotting it down phonetically.

 

“And you mentioned elves?” she asked. “Like, pointy-eared, Tolkien-type elves?”

 

“Tolkien was a great traveller in his day. Even across the Nine Realms.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Jingle bell -knock-knock!” a cheery voice called from the doorway. “I come bearing mince pies of great joy!”

 

Sherlock slumped down low in his chair, groaning loudly.

 

“Be nice!” Molly hissed.

 

Mrs Hudson swept into the room, carrying a tray laden with golden mince pies.

 

“Oh, hello, dear,” she said to Loki. “Am I interrupting your life story?”

 

“Not at all. I'd just finished.”

 

“No, you hadn't! Tell us more about the elves.”

 

Molly cleared her throat as the landlady began handing round plates.

 

“Actually, Martha, we need to ask your permission for Loki to stay with us. Just until his case is solved. He's no where else to go.”

 

“I don't mind if it's only for a few days and if he's happy to share with Sherlock.” She eyed Loki carefully. “Although,dear, and I don't want to sound like the Grinch, but you really ought to go to a shelter instead of sofa surfing. I'm not running a hostel, you know.”

 

“I...understand...completely...” Loki said, around a mouthful of mince pie, and spraying crumbs. He had been the only one to tuck in straight away. “This is amazing! You're a wonderful cook.”

 

Mrs Hudson blushed. Sherlock looked nauseated.

 

“Have an another one,” she offered. “You look like you need feeding up.”

 

“Thanks. Although, to tell the truth, I never stop eating. I just don't put on weight.”

 

“You're so lucky!” Molly remarked.

 

Sherlock suddenly leapt up from his chair.

 

“We're going out!” he announced. “Back to where Molly found you. It might spark a memory.”

 

Loki wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Excellent idea.” His form shimmered as a long coat manifested over his suit, complete with a green scarf.

 

Mrs Hudson, who hadn't seen that trick yet, made a little hoot noise of excitement.

 

Molly and Sherlock were left to wrap up in the conventional manner.

 

“Martha, will be you joining us?” Loki asked, as the others pushed past her on their way to the stairs.

 

“Ooh, better not, dear. I don't really join in with the cases.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Sherlock shouted back. “She has a bad hip, don't you, Mrs Hudson? And it's slippery out there!”

 

“I do,” she admitted, with a touch of sadness. “It is.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow at the landlady. “A bad hip? You? Don't give me that. You're a dancer, I can see.” He nudged her with elbow. “Go on. Live a little.”

 

Mrs Hudson giggled loudly, before saying, “Alright, then! Why not?”

 

Sherlock looked like thunder as Loki happily linked arms with Mrs Hudson and then offered his other arm to Molly, who eagerly took it. And then he felt down right miserable as the trio set off ahead of him, laughing like they had known one another for years, while he was left to lock up and to trail behind them. The normal rhythm of his life had been upset and he didn't like it.

 

He looked up to the sky to see that it was beginning to snow again, swirls of slowly falling snow flakes being tossed about by the wind.

 

 

* * *

 

_AN: Thank you for reading!_

_I know that Sherlock is suffering a bit, but things will get better in the end. Both Molly and Sherlock need to learn to be brave enough to express their feelings. Life is short, too short to waste._

_The Bishop's Wife is one source of inspiration for this fic. It's a Christmas film from 1947. An overworked bishop is neglecting his wife and child, and is under pressure to build a grand cathedral, although he secretly believes the money could be put to better use to serve the needy. In desperation he prays to God for help, so God sends an angel called Dudley. Dudley starts working for the bishop, but also charms his whole family, especially his wife. In the end, the Bishop gets his act together, remember what his true priorities are ie his family. Then Dudley isn't needed after that. It's a really good film._

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigations, Mycroft, and chimneys.

 

**Chapter 5**

 

Molly had led them back to the wheelie bins where she had found Loki just a couple of hours earlier. Sherlock wasted no time in opening up his magnifying-glass and was now inspecting the entire area. Molly stood behind him, shining a torch over his shoulder.

 

Loki was sitting cross-legged on top of the bin, watching the proceedings with mild interest, but doing nothing to help.

 

“Your actions are highly commendable, Mortal. You're willing to get down on your hands and knees and crawl through all of London's finest dirt and grime just to meet your goals.”

 

Sherlock straightened up, looking a little worst for wear. It was very cold and there were snowflakes gathering in his hair. Molly instinctively reached forward to brush them away.

 

“Then why don't you join me?” he asked.

 

Loki placed a hand on his side, wincing. “It's filthy around here. I don't want to develop an infection.”

 

Mrs Hudson stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together.

 

“Have you found anything, Sherlock?” she asked.

 

“Many things. The only thing of interest, however, is the tiny splatters of blood leading in that direction,” Sherlock pointed ahead to the next house along. It's front garden had a low wall and behind that wall was a frankly over-the-top display of Christmas lights of record breaking tackiness levels that deserved it's own reward.

 

Father Christmasses in their cheery multitudes were dotted here and there, mingling with snowmen and snowwomen, or riding astride prancing reindeer. It was a luminous Yuletide disaster.

 

“And look at that,” Sherlock said, pointing this time to a Father Christmas laying face down. “Either that Father Christmas has enjoyed too much mulled wine or someone knocked it over. I favour the former, going by the paw prints just visible next to it. Ring any bells, Loki?”

 

The god of Mischief looked thoughtful. “I did have a vague dream that I was being told off by Jolnir for ruining Christmas. It was horrible.”

 

“Jolnir? A volcanic island off the south coast of Iceland.”

 

“Yes, but also our name for Father Christmas.”

 

“Okay, so you were here,” said Molly, clicking off the torch. “But, where did you come from?”

 

Loki shrugged. He tilted his head back to watch the snow falling softly and constantly from a cold, black sky.

 

“From far, far away,” he murmured. “From a place of ice and snow.”

 

Sherlock came and stood beside him. “Alfheim? Why don't you live in Asgard?”

 

Loki shrugged.

 

“Okay, but how about this? You said that your parents are Odin and Frigga. Now, according to our myths, you are Odin's blood brother. Which is it?”

 

Loki fiddled with his bracelet again.

 

“All the Nine Realms are connected, Sherlock. And sometimes, through our dreams, we get to see glimpses into other worlds, even if the view is distorted. Most of the time those dreams are complete draumskrok, but that won't stop men like Snorri Sturlson from writing them down and making a fat pile of cash out of them. Did you read the one where I had my mouth sewn shut? Honestly!”

 

“Yeah, that must be annoying. So, does that mean that Thor is your brother?”

 

Again Loki shrugged, but added, “It's complicated.”

 

Sherlock was running low on patience.

 

“Look, I am trying to help you spark a memory of some kind, any kind!” he snapped. “But, it won't work if you only give half-hearted answers. Now, we haven't got anything else to go on – there are no other physical clues. So far, all we know is that you live on Alfheim and then you somehow ended up in London, as a cat, with a severe injury. That is a big gap we have to fill in. So, come on -think! What about that bracelet? Look at it. Really, look!”

 

Loki looked, without much enthusiasm it has be said. Then he shrugged for a third time. “Just a bit of jewellery.”

 

Sherlock held out his hand.

 

“May I?”

 

Loki was strangely reluctant to slip it off and hand it over, but eventually he did so. Sherlock examined it closely, carefully turning it this was and that.

 

“I hope you're going to impress me, Poirot,” Loki said. “Tell me my whole life story, perhaps.”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He always being challenged as it gave him a good reason to show off, a favourite pastime of his.

 

“This isn't just a piece of jewellery to you; you've looked after it too well. It's clean on both the outside and inside. There isn't even a speck of dirt caught in the engravings. You care deeply about whoever gave this to you. And perhaps they care about you too. If so, they may be out looking for you – which is good for us as our paths may cross - or they may have been brutally attacked too. Possibly murdered. Which, to be honest, is also good for us because then it'll give me something more concrete to work with.”

 

Loki looked more than a little hurt at those words. His mouth hung open as he took step back, shocked.

 

“Sherlock!” Molly hissed. “Tact? We talked about that once, remember?”

 

“This is me being tactful. Anything, Loki? You do look upset. Why?”

 

Sherlock had hoped that a little bit of brutal honesty might be enough to trigger a clear memory, but once again he was disappointed.

 

Instead of spouting some incredible revelation about his past, Loki snatched the bracelet back from Sherlock, wearing a moody look. Having it placed it carefully back on his wrist, he then he licked his finger and held it up to the wind.

 

“This way,” he said, confidently, heading off down the street, feet crunching over the snow.

 

“What?” Sherlock asked. He looked briefly between Molly and Mrs Hudson before hurrying forward.

 

“The fun is this way. I can taste it.”

 

“Fun? We're working.”

 

“I never work. I only have fun. Although, often they are one and the same thing. Don't you know how to multi-task? Molly, what's this way?”

 

Molly look puzzled for a moment, but her face cleared as she hit upon the answer.

 

“Oh, could you mean the Winter Wonderland in the Park? It has a funfair and an ice rink and and lots of other fun attractions.” She sounded wistful. “It's free to get in,” she added.

 

Loki grinned at her. “Good. Let's go.”

 

“Okay!”

 

“Molly, wait!” Sherlock gently took hold of her elbow, so that he could talk to her privately. He lowered his voice to say, “I thought you said that going to the Winter Wonderland would be a waste of time.”

 

Molly tugged her woolly cat hat down further over her forehead; it still wasn't far enough to cover up the frown.

 

“No, that's what you said when I mentioned it last week! I just didn't disagree with you.”

 

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

 

He meant it too. Yet somehow the apology came out wrong, sounding not so much as sincere as gruff. Thankfully, she knew him too well to misunderstand his tone.

 

She shrugged – he was getting sick of seeing people shrug! Not that he would dare complain about her. “Well, you were busy staring down your microscope at the time.” She smiled sweetly at him, a welcome sight. “It's okay, though. We are going now.”

 

Sherlock's heart suddenly felt heavy.

 

“Yes, we are,” he said, softly. “All four of us.”

 

* * *

 

**Meanwhile, at the house of Mycroft...**

 

“The Prince of Asgard...and friend,” Mycroft Holmes murmured. He waved at his guests for them to sit down on the sofa, as he himself sank into his armchair on the other side of the fireplace. The fire had just been extinguished, leaving the room feeling cold. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

 

The man, who was far larger than any earth-bound human, swept his blue eyes over the large pile of soot, which had landed all over the hearth and the most of the furniture too. And Mycroft. Although, to the credit of the spy-master, he was taking it all in his stride, as though it happened every other week.

 

“Sorry about the mess,” the stranger said, having the good grace to sound embarrassed. “I'm not used to coming down the....she insisted upon it.” He jerked his head in the direction of the woman, who sat beside him with her feet up on the cushions. She was covered from hat to boot in soot. She smiled sweetly at Mycroft, instantly winning him over.

 

“Think nothing of it,” Mycroft said in a clipped tone, as he dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. “What can I do for you?”

 

The man spoke up again.

 

“Mainly, The Bifrost Agreement of 1859.”

 

Mycroft stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket.

 

“Ah, yes. Put into place by the Prince Consort. Under the terms of the agreement your people are allowed to roam freely over British soil without interference, unless British lives are put in danger. And on landing on British soil you are to report to the defender of the land...it was always considered a rather vague term...I'm flattered that you chose to interpret me as “the defender of the land””.

 

The woman nodded at him, leaving Mycroft feeling oddly proud of himself.

 

He went to take a sip of brandy from his glass, but then remembered that it was now filled with soot. He put the glass back down.

 

“To be honest, we tried Buckingham Palace first, but no one was home.”

 

“That's because they're at Sandringham House, that's where they go every year.”

 

“Also, we've come to you because our families go way back.”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

 

“They do?”

 

The stranger cleared his throat. “Our father liked to travel. Before his marriage, of course.”

 

“Of course.” Mycroft sat up straighter, wearing his I-Must-Ask-Parents-About-That look. “That does explain a lot...as well as raising a lot of other questions...” His grey eyes lost their focus as he stared back into the past, recalling every unusual incident concerning Sherlock, Eurus, and himself, but mostly Eurus.

 

“Hmm. So, we were hoping to prevail upon your sense of familial honour and to keep this quiet until we have found what we have lost.”

 

Mycroft snapped back to the present.

 

“Your brother/sister Loki?”

 

“Yes. How did you -”

 

“They are the reason for the Bifrost Agreement. The Prince Consort was very fond of them.”

 

The woman sat up. She was fiddling anxiously with a silver bracelet. “How close?”

 

“Sigyn!” the man hissed, lightly slapping the woman's tummy. “So, we have your cooperation then?”

 

“You do. Unless the agreement is broken. Although, I will say that this country could do without another trickster running about unsupervised, so it would be extremely helpful if you could learn to keep your little brother under control.”

 

Some would say that Mycroft was extremely brave to speak to a Prince of Asgard in such a manner. Everyone else would call him a pompous, humourless, hypocritical ass.

 

The man narrowed his eyes. “Which is why we intend to find him quickly.”

 

“Good. Can I offer you some advice?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Those outfits....”

 

“These?” The man's face lit up, obviously pleased with himself. “These are our Human Aspects. We all have the ability to blend in with whichever people we find ourselves surrounded by.”

 

“Fascinating. However, you might wish to lose the top hats.”

 

The couple exchanged worried glances, top hats wobbling slightly.

 

“Bit out of place?”

 

“Only by a few years. Good luck. Oh, and please use the front door.”

 

The couple walked slowly out of the room, the man pausing only to retrieve his umbrella from the stand by the door.

 

* * *

 

_AN: Thank you for reading! I was hoping to include the Winter Wonderland scene in this chapter, but it was becoming a little too long, so I'm saving it for the next chapter._

 

_And so Sigyn finally makes an appearance! And sporting a top hat, no less. Also, introducing Top-Hat Thor! Originally, it was going to be bowler hats (to imply that they had fallen victim to the stereotypical image of English people as all wearing bowler hats), but then I decided that top-hats would be more Christmassy. Also, a stereotype. They hadn't done their research._

 

_What can I tell you about Sigyn? Her name means “Friend of Victory”, she is the personification of loyalty, fidelity, devotion, truth, and compassion. She is naturally a nurturer and a carer and a comforter to the grieving._

 

_She was in the Marvel comics from 1978, making her final appearance in 1995, where she was unceremoniously dropped, with no explanation for her disappearance. She could be alive or dead. However, since Loki is now good (or has he turned bad again?) it would be nice if she were brought back._

 

_This Sigyn is not a copy of the Sigyn in the comics, and she's only loosely based on the myths. But more on that later._

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice Skating

Chapter 6

 

The Winter Wonderland did not fail to live up to its name (much like the Gnome Land of Devon, in that respect) or to impress. Situated in Hyde Park, every aspect of Christmas was covered or represented in some way: colourful lights were hanging everywhere; roller coasters and a Ferris wheel added to the dizzying atmosphere; stalls sold mouth-watering food, hot drinks, or beer; musical shows were being performed; there was a Santa Land for the children to explore; ice sculptures were dotted here and there; and there was a large outdoor ice rink. It was impossible not to taste the excitement in the air or to feel a little more Christmassy as soon as you approached the park and saw the Ferris Wheel rising above it all, as colourful as an exploding firework. The slowly falling snow only added to the warm glow of the festive atmosphere.

 

Molly was struggling to believe that only a short time ago she had written off the night completely, and had only intended to lounge in front of the TV with a glass of wine. What a waste of life that would have been! Out of their quartet she was clearly the most energised and electrified by the joyful ambience of the place, with Loki following closely in second place, as she dragged them from one attraction to another. Poor Mrs Hudson soon found that her feet were letting her down, while Sherlock was absolutely undone by the crowds and the noise. It was not his cup of tea at all.

 

“Maybe we should leave now?” Molly said to Loki, having noticed Sherlock's rather pinched look and Mrs Hudson scanning for a place to sit down. She was being to feel guilty that she was having fun while they were only enduring discomfort.

 

“Why?” Loki asked. He was carefully prodding the stomach of a life-sized model of Father Christmas with a stick he had retrieved from a flower bed, as though he expected it to react in some way. “Red's not his colour,” he concluded with a sniff. “Green would suit him much better.”

 

He noticed Molly's worried face. He glanced to where Sherlock was moodily watching a dancing snowman with his arms tightly folded.

 

“Oh, Molly, if you did everything Sherlock wanted all the time, then you'd be stuck inside forever.”

 

Molly fidgeted with the antlers on the stuffed reindeer Loki had won for her, although she suspected that he may have cheated. She felt like she was betraying her friend when she said, “It's not really Sherlock's fault....he likes solving crimes, chemistry experiments, playing his violin, and that's about it....”

 

“So, does that mean you're not allowed to do the things you enjoy?” Loki asked, eyebrow raised. And when she didn't reply added, “Coming here isn't an act of treachery, Molly. It's just a bit of fun.” He took her by the hand, saying, “I want to go skating, come on!”

 

He was pleased to see Molly's face light up again.

 

“Okay, but what about the others?”

 

“They can come as well,” Loki said, rather impatiently, dragging her along. “Martha, Sherlock, we're going to the ice-rink! Let's go!”

 

At this point Mrs Hudson had succeeded in finding a bench and was sitting next to Sherlock, who was still looking rather fed-up, and then frankly alarmed at the suggestion of ice-skating.

 

The landlady shook her head. “It's no good, dear. You need to buy a ticket and look at how long that queue is.”

 

“Are you forgetting who I am, Martha?” Loki asked teasingly, practically hauling her off the bench. “I have a talent for going for wherever I like. Sherlock, coming? I can see that you would be good at skating.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, raising his hands. “No thanks. The rink looks rammed packed.”

 

Molly's disappointment shone clear on her face, even if she wasn't surprised by his answer. “Oh, well, I guess I'll wait with you. You don't want to be on your own.”

 

Sherlock laughed. “Molly, I am a grown man. I can cope with watching you from the sidelines.” Go on.”

 

 _Besides,_ he thought to himself, _I stopped you from having fun once already..._

 

Molly smiled at him sadly before shrugging her shoulders and walking slowly away.

 

* * *

 

 

As promised, Loki was somehow able to walk all three of them through the queue without being challenged once. Molly had felt a little annoyed when Loki wouldn't allow them to pick out a pair of stakes, and wondered what he was thinking. However, her annoyance soon turned to delight because once they'd stepped onto the ice their shoes had turned into skates with a green shimmer of magic.

 

Molly hadn't been skating since she was a child and she found some difficulty in maintaining her balance. As Sherlock had observed, the rink was full and Molly soon began to feel more than a little lost as people shot past her, occasionally bumping into her. Perhaps Sherlock had been right to avoid the situation all together. She clung to the side and wondered how on earth she would make it back to the pavilion without being knocked down.

 

A little way ahead of her, Mrs Hudson wasn't having much better luck. The poor woman was also clutching onto the railing, feet constantly sliding out from under her, and looking as about as comfortable as an elephant in high-heels.

 

“This was a bad idea, Molly!” she called. “I might need some assistance. I don't want to break my hip!”

 

“Hold on, I'm coming.”

 

Molly tried to drag herself forward, but jumped when she felt a hand close around her own.

 

“Don't be scared, Molly,” Loki said, close to her ear. “Skating is just like flying. All you need to do is to trust in your wings.”

 

He pushed away from the side, taking Molly with him. With his other hand he grabbed hold of Mrs Hudson's arm, who squealed and protested, but to no avail. He refused to let go.

 

Suddenly, skating became as easy as walking. Suddenly, they were gliding, going slowly at first but then speeding up, going faster than anyone else on the ice, and far more gracefully too, as though they had done it all their lives.

 

Molly gave Loki a startled look. This was his magic at work again. He laughed at her expression. She couldn't help but laugh back.

 

“I think you can manage without me now, Martha,” Loki chuckled, suddenly releasing Mrs Hudson. She went shooting off ahead, but turned it into an elaborate twirl. People clapped.

 

Loki drew closer to Molly. He had his arm around her, so that her head was pressed against his shoulder, and was holding onto her hands. He smiled sweetly at her.

 

He was right, Molly realised. It was like flying.

 

But, as they went her eyes began to feel hot and wet. Being so physically close to another living being felt more wonderful than it should have done, a bittersweet reminder that it had been too long since anyone had held her.

 

Touch-starved was phrase which jumped into her mind. She had read a few different medical articles about it - all people needed physical contact for the sake of their well-being, both physical and mental. Even a hug which only lasted twenty seconds was supposed to release a much needed release of serotonin.

 

The tears ran down Molly's cheeks as they flew around the rink, the rest of the crowd pushing back to watch for some reason. Loki's magic again? God of Mischief he may be, but he also knew how to make someone feel safe in his arms. It felt good, it felt wonderful, but he wasn't Sherlock...and clearly she wasn't Loki's love either...he obviously knew how to hold someone and make them feel special. She hoped that he would be able to remember them soon.

 

Carefully and slowly, she pushed his hands away. Knowing what she wanted, Loki smiled faintly at her, before lightly brushing away her tears with his fingers, and then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

 

Molly had never felt so free.

 

She spun around with her ponytail flying out behind her. Laughing, she held her hands stretched outwards and her head tipped back, feeling the snow landing on her cheeks and upturned palms, like the gentlest of touches.

 

This is joy, she thought, this is happiness. Although, there was only thing missing.

 

From the side, Sherlock was watching her in awe. He had always thought her beautiful, but seeing her so happy...she was aglow in a way that he hadn't seen before.

 

 _I could never make her glow like that_ , he thought bitterly.

 

“I like her,” Loki suddenly said. “She's kind.”

 

Sherlock flinched. He hadn't noticed Loki standing next to him. The Trickster was holding a box of doughnuts in his hand. Sherlock strongly suspected that they hadn't been paid for.

 

“I thought that you wanted to skate,” he snapped, irritably.

 

Loki turned to lean on the railings, green eyes flicking over the scene before him.

 

“I did, and now I'm done, and now I'm searching for lost memories. An emotional place like this is bound to spark a memory or two.” He smiled knowingly at Sherlock, saying, “Or maybe even the one who attacked me is lurking here and will want to have a second chance of finishing me off. We can draw them out that way.”

 

Sherlock frowned. “That's not a plan.”

 

“Really? You wanted to suggest it earlier, I could tell. You're the one who's willing to do anything. Or supposed to be.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

Loki looked to where Molly and Mrs Hudson were on the ice. They were holding hands and giggling like schoolgirls as they spun around together.

 

“How old are you, Sherlock?” Loki asked, tipping his head to one side.

 

Sherlock immediately felt suspicious, wondering where this line of questioning would lead.

 

“Thirty,” he said, cautiously.

 

Loki nodded. “That's good. Thirty is good. I mean, it's not like the lives of mortals are pitifully short. You have all the time in the world to drag your feet and take your time.” He patted Sherlock's shoulder. “Good for you.”

 

Sherlock jerked his shoulder to shake Loki off. “It's none of your business.”

 

“It is if you're too distracted to do your job properly. You're supposed to be helping me, remember?”

 

“You're the one who dragged Mrs Hudson along and then brought us to this place. How is this not a distraction?”

 

“It isn't for me. I'm learning of plenty of things.” He held out the box. “Doughnut?”

 

Sherlock hesitated. “You don't have any money.”

 

“No. So, I just took them. It's okay, nobody was looking.”

 

Sherlock sighed, but accepted the doughnut. He bit into it, finding it to be filled with warm liquid chocolate.

 

“What are you so scared of?” Loki asked, mouth full of chocolate filling. If Frigga could have seen him she would be wringing her hands in despair over all the lost years she had spent trying to teach her son manners.

 

“I'm not scared,” Sherlock retorted, taking another large bite. “I just not certain that I'm what she needs to be happy, to flourish in life. I mean, look at her. She's a normal person. She needs friends and days out...whereas me...I can spend whole days working in front of the microscope without noticing. I just think that she deserves a man who doesn't keep a severed head in the fridge.”

 

Loki froze, doughnut half-way to his mouth. “We have a head like that back home. It only occasionally prophesies for us. I'd never thought of keeping it chilled, though. Perhaps it would help. How often does yours talk?”

 

“Talk? No, no, you're missing the point. Molly and I are too different. In the end, we would only drag each other down. And, yes, I have been tempted to confess my feelings for her, but that's just me being selfish, I suppose. It would be better for her if I cut ties with her and let her move on.”

 

Loki smirked. “Brilliant idea. Women love it when you tell them what's good for them and what isn't.”

 

“Who are you? The god of Sarcasm?”

 

“Yes,” came the innocent reply.

 

“Why am I even talking to you?” Sherlock shook his head. “You're a Trickster. You only live to seek pleasure and to avoid pain.”

 

“Doesn't everyone?”

 

Sherlock ruffled up his curls, before saying, “I'm not giving up on your case just yet, but you're still haven't remembered anything. I need to think up a new plan. And possibly -just possibly, mind – I may have been mistaken about your bracelet. There may not be _anyone_ for you to remember. As you said, it could just a piece of jewellery you wear for the sake of your vanity.”

 

“I did not say anything about being vain! So, you think that there's no one searching for me?”

 

Sherlock tried to be tactful.

 

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” he said, slowly. “You avoided answering the question about why you don't live on Asgard. The reason can't be a good one. And maybe the myths about you are inaccurate, but as you yourself said, they were written by a man who experienced glimpses into your world. Inaccurate, maybe, but still based on reality. Tricksters are always outcasts. People like you and me, we're always alone. Sorry, but you may just be stuck here for good. Unless you can find your own way back home. Feel free to crash on my sofa for as long as you need.”

 

Living on somebody's sofa....to Loki, who had never lived in anything smaller than a castle, it was a chilling thought.

 

“You may have run out of ideas, but I have not,” he said, jutting his chin out. “We'll just call in on Albert. Drina won't be happy with us for interrupting their Christmas, but he knows me just about as well as anyone else. He'll help me. I'm not as alone as you think I am.”

 

“Albert?”

 

“The Prince Consort, yes. He's my friend.”

 

 _Oh, dear,_ Sherlock thought.

 

“ _Was_ your friend,” he amended. “I'm sorry to tell you this, but he died in 1861.”

 

Loki looked just about as shocked as Sherlock had anticipated. The box of doughnuts had slipped from his hand, landing on the ground with a thump. He now raised that trembling hand to his mouth.

 

It was a fleeting moment, but Sherlock thought that he saw a rainbow flit over Loki's eyes.

 

“No...no, that can't be right...” Loki gasped. “I saw him only a few years ago...I helped him set up the Great Exhibition. I persuaded Isaac Stark to attend!”

 

“Loki, it's 2010. He's been gone a 149 years. What year did you think it was?”

 

Loki shook his head wildly. “But, 1861? That would only make him 42. What happened?”

 

“He became sick,” Sherlock softly. “Pneumonia. I'm sorry.”

 

The detective hovered awkwardly for a moment before deciding that Loki would rather be alone. He walked off, leaving the Trickster alone with his thoughts.

 

Loki's head was in a whirl. If his friend had died he would have known about it, so how could he have forgotten? He knew full well that the lives of mortals are always brief and besmirched by illness and disease. How could he think Albert still alive?

 

He heard laughing. There were two women walking by with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, their faces red with the light of love. Loki felt a stab of jealousy - not an unfamiliar emotion to him – but also...heartache? Loneliness? Once again, Loki's eyes began to sting, although he wasn't completely sure why. Once again there was that feeling that there was an important memory just out of reach, but it was like try to hold onto mist – impossible to grasp.

 

But then there was a flash of something, more a feeling than a memory, of dancing and holding someone close and being held in return. But then it was gone as soon as it had come.

 

He tilted his head back to feel the snow landing on his face.

 

“Sentiment,” he hissed to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Sherlock walking away from Loki, and wandered what had happened. It was time to leave the ice-rink, she decided. It was time to go back home.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock felt a little bad for walking away, but he also suspected that, like himself, Loki did not want to been seen upset. He wandered around aimlessly until something glinting in the lights caught his eye. There were two long lines of ice sculptures on either side of a path winding around the lake. The ice attracted him like a fly to jam, that and the lack of people, and so he scuttled over as quickly as he could. From a distance he had been unable to discern the meaning of the sculptures, but up close he could see that each one depicted a different story from the life of Jesus Christ: of healing the sick, of making friends with the outcasts of society, and of being hung on the cross. However, the final and largest of the sculptures stood at the end of the path and was a representation of the Nativity scene in the stable. There was card underneath with the Bible verse:

 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declared the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_AN: Thanks for reading!_

_I found this one a tricky one to write, what with all the characters suffering from heart ache. On the other hand, Loki was very happy to discover that chocolate doughnuts exist._

 

_Sherlock was nervous about the crowds on the ice rink, but Loki didn't tell him that he had the power to clear those crowds. Not cool, Loki!_

 

_The Winter Wonderland is a real event in London._

 

 


	7. Interlude Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short flashback chapter.

 

_AN: I'm on holiday at the moment, but felt like doing some writing, so here is a hastily written and very sketchy chapter for you. It doesn't follow on from the previous chapter, but is meant to provide a little backstory._

* * *

 

 

**Interlude Chapter**

 

Thor came bounding into Loki's bedroom. It was dark in there, but Thor could just make out the lump under the blankets. He pulled them back, revealing a very grumpy looking Loki.

 

“Brother, I believe congratulations are in order!” he boomed, something he did on purpose just to annoy Loki.

 

Loki wrestled back the blankets and rolled onto his side, presenting his back to Thor.

 

“Congratulations are definitely not in order,” he said in a flat tone. “And I'm not your brother. I am your father's hostage.”

 

Thor sighed.

 

“Still dwelling on that, are you?”

 

“I think about it from time to time, yes.” Loki sat up suddenly. “It's too much, Thor, all at once. First, I discover that I'm adopted, then it turns out that I'm a Jotun, and now they want me to get married? You know that Sigyn is ¼ Jotun, don't you? ¼ Jotun and ¾ Ice Elf. This marriage was obviously planned from the moment Odin picked me up for the first time. They're just trying to get rid of me before I have time to cause too much trouble.”

 

Thor placed a hand on Loki's shoulder.

 

“As the younger brother – yes, you are my brother – you were always going to have marry for the sake of creating or maintaining an alliance with one of our allies. And it's a good match. She's not royalty, but her family is one of the most powerful in the Nine Realms. Just be grateful that you haven't been promised to Princess Korg of Kronan.”

 

Loki shuddered at the thought of marrying a rock person.

 

“So, chin up, yes? And have you thought about what you are going to wear?”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You're excited about this, aren't you?”

 

“So excited!” Thor admitted. “I'm going to give you and Sigyn the best blessing possible. By the time I'm done waving Mjolnir over you both, you'll be the happiest couple in the Nine Realms and won't be able to move for children. You'll both be very happy.”

 

Loki flopped back on his bed. And as Thor chatted on about colour schemes and wedding invitations, he was already sketching out his plans for escape.

 

* * *

 

 

“You wish for me to marry Loki Odinson?” Sigyn asked. “This is so sudden. And he's Aesir. Our people are very different.”

 

“No,” her mother replied, rigidly buttering her slice of bread with a sliver knife. “He's a Jotun. Adopted. His family have only just revealed the truth. They've kept his true heritage a secret for all these years. Not even he knew until a few days ago. Poor boy.”

 

“I see...” Sigyn began to twirl a lock of blue hair around her finger.

 

“You think it a poor match, snowflake?” her mother asked. “Because I certainly do, but your Father insisted that he knows best. However, the boy is not well respected by his own people. Your marriage will be nothing but a joke to them. It'll be a disgrace.”

 

“Because he is Jotun? And because I have Jotun blood in me? I understand that the Aesir and the Frost Giants are old enemies, but surely because he is one of the princes they can put their old prejudices aside?”

 

“The Aesir are all proud warriors. They don't change their minds so easily. And not it's just because he's Jotun that he is disrespected.” Her mother lowered her voice. “He is also a shape-shifter. Well, you can't trust them, can you? You never know what is real and what isn't.”

 

Sigyn placed her tea-cup in its saucer with a sharp sounding clatter. “Oh, Mother, please! Do drop your hypocrisy!”

 

“Me? I don't mind shape-shifters. I'm just informing you how his own people view him. And how they will view you too, once you've bound together. I've no desire to see my only child trapped in a loveless, shameful marriage with a – with a Trickster of all things!”

 

“Mother! We don't know him. I hear he is clever.”

 

“All Tricksters are clever, my sweet. And greedy, callous, selfish....really, what was your Father thinking? A shape-shifting Trickster for a son-in-law? A husband? Father? It will not work. And you can be sure that this is the reason why his family are washing their hands of him off before their eldest son is married. Now if you had been betrothed to Thor, I would be so pleased, but as it is, King Odin has given us the second-best.”

 

“No one is second-best, Mother. No one. I will meet with the Prince and make my own mind up about him.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was just beginning to set over Asgard when Sigyn entered the private garden. Loki stood up to greet her. She bowed to him.

 

“Good evening, your Highness.”

 

Loki took her hand. “My Lady.” He lead her to a stone bench. “Please, sit down.”

 

“My, there are a lot of guards surrounding us.”

 

“Yes,” Loki agreed stiffly.

 

“Is it because you tried to run away last week?”

 

“You heard about that?”

 

“I did.” Sigyn lent in closer. “How far did you get?”

 

“To Norway, Midgard.”

 

“And what gave you away?”

 

“Well, apparently, there are not many milkmaids who can read Shakespeare in several different languages...that and because I was not much of a hard worker.”

 

Sigyn laughed. “You turned yourself into a milkmaid?”

 

“I'm afraid so.” Loki bowed his head. “I am a shape-shifter,” he said in a low voice.

 

Sigyn smiled at him. “And I've been practising. Observe.”

 

With a light blue shimmer Sigyn's form twisted and shrank down into that of a swan. She flapped her wings and flew a couple of circuits around the garden, before landing behind a pillar and calling, “Hand me my clothes would you?”

 

Loki glared at one of the younger guards who was unable to resist turning his head. He carefully picked up Sigyn's blue dress and cloak, passing them over.

 

“No peeking!” Sigyn warned.

 

After she had finished dressing, she asked, “How did I do?”

 

“Good. Excellent, even. You taught yourself?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“I thought that shape-shifters were born, not grown. I didn't think it was possible to _learn_ how to change Aspects. It's amazing!”

 

Sigyn linked her arm through his. “Anything is possible, Loki. Now, tell me what is Shakespeare and why is it so important to you that you couldn't resist reading it while on the run. I want to know everything.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

_AN: Thor's hammer is not just an instrument of destruction, but was also used to bless marriages, births and deaths. My Sis showed me a Spiderman comic where it is revealed that Thor enjoys reading bridal magazines. He's a softy at heart, isn't he? So, it's fan-canon that Thor loves to plan weddings._

 

_In Thor (2011) it's implied quite heavily that Loki was looked down upon by almost everyone. Thor tells him, “Know your place, brother!” just before the battle against the Frost Giants. And in one of the deleted scenes you can see a servant laughing at Loki. It is the deleted scene set just before Thor's coronation ceremony. Thor jokes to Loki, “some of us do battle, other just do tricks.” Loki smiles at this, however the servants with them chuckles far more loudly than he should have done, to the point where it just seemed unkind. It suggests that Loki's magical ability was not at all valued or respected, and that even the servants laugh at Loki's expense._

 

_This is why I wrote Sigyn's mother being upset at the thought of her daughter marrying Loki. Their marriage would just be a joke. However, Sigyn is the compassionate one and is willing to get to know Loki. In the Marvel world there are many different races of Elf: Ice, Spice...and according to the Alfheim Wikipeadia page, Pleasure Elves who are famed for being triple-jointed...don't think they'll be making an appearance in this fic!_

 

_Thanks for reading!_

 

 

 


	8. chapter 8

 

Chapter 8

 

Thor and Sigyn had wandering around London for hours, following the faint wisps of magic in the air, but with no concrete direction in mind. They turned onto Baker Street, where apart from the bright Christmas lights, all the houses seemed dark and uninviting.

 

“Are you sure he's in the city?” Thor asked, tugging his itchy red scarf up over his nose and mouth. They had taken Mycroft Holmes' advice and thrown the top hats away, but the occasional passer-by would still pause to take a photo with their phone, and Thor had no desire for an image of his face to shared out among the mortals just on the off-chance that it would find it's way back to Odin. However, he felt the scarf and frock-coat disguised his form quite nicely.

 

Sigyn sighed. “No, Thor, I am not. I just fancied a midnight jaunt around London, you know? See the sights – the rubbish, the crumbling buildings, rats, an oversized clock-tower....”

 

“Cranky. Mind you, women in your condition -”

 

“Mention my condition one more time, Thor Odinson, and I'll hit you so hard that you'll be sent flying over the Rainbow Bridge and we can call you a shooting star.” Her eyes widened. “I'm sorry, Thor, that was very rude of me.”

 

“It's okay. You're worried about Loki.”

 

“Not just that..I think it's these bloomers. They're made of wool, very scratchy.” Sigyn did a couple of little hops, holding onto her sides. “Let's just carry on. I'm sure that he was here not so long ago. I think we're close!”

 

* * *

 

 

Back at the Winter Wonderland ice-rink, Molly skated over to where Mrs Hudson was turning in twirls.

 

“Come on,” Molly said to her. “We should go. I think Sherlock and Loki have had a tiff.”

 

She jumped when something warm and wet splattered against her cheek. Mrs Hudson stared at her.

 

“Molly...is that paint?”

 

The landlady used a tissue to wipe the liquid off Molly's face and, still looking confused, held the tissue up. It was smeared with vivid streaks of reds, blues, yellows, oranges, greens and, purples.

 

“I-I don't understand...”

 

Molly tilted her head backwards. There was nothing above them and the sky was still a pitch black, not a star to be seen behind the snow clouds. Another heavy drop of the mystery liquid fell, this time on her coat sleeve, splashing a bright rainbow over her shoulder. Then another landed on the ice next to her, larger than the others, and leaving a stripy puddle by her foot.

 

Mrs Hudson tugged anxiously on her elbow.

 

“Come away!” she urged.

 

By now many of the other skaters had also been dripped on by the rainbow liquid. Some of the younger ones, especially the children, were delighted by this unexpected surprise, thinking it part of Wonderland and were happily skating through it, spreading colourful streaks over the rink. Some were just complaining that their clothes would be stained. Meanwhile, the poor attendants did not know what was happening, but were doing their best to remove people from the ice-rink as quickly as possible.

 

Molly skated to the barriers.

 

“Sherlock! Loki!” she yelled. “Something strange is happening!”

 

Above her the sky began to wobble and bubble up, more and more drops of rainbow-something leaking through. Then two hands -shining with all the colours of the rainbow – burst out through one of the bubbles. They tore a rift in the sky; instead of darkness there was only a sea of bright, shimmering colours.

 

A figure dived head-first out of the rift, landing in front of Molly.

 

“G-good evening,” she squeaked.

 

The figure was a little over six-foot tall, humanoid, and had no face. Instead, it was a mess of beaming colours, all shimmering and moving over it's body, sometimes clashing and other times complimenting one another. It raised it hands, steadily moving towards Molly.

 

Molly pressed herself up against the barrier.

 

“What are you?” she demanded. She had one hand in her pocket, fishing for something hard to throw at the monster. All she could find was her phone. She hurled it at the creature, but the phone simply flew straight through it as though it were nothing more substantial than mist. “You're a ghost!” Molly gasped. “A tie-dye ghost...that's unusual!”

 

The first ghost was joined by two more, both a little smaller than it, but no less menacing. They moved closer to Molly, arms outstretched.

 

By now the crowds had cottoned onto the fact that something terrible was happening and was swarming to the exits. Mrs Hudson was swept along with them, although she tried to resist so that she could go back to help Molly, but it was hopeless.

 

Molly looked around wildly. She knew that she wasn't fast enough to skate past them without getting caught, and she had no idea what they would do to her if they did. She felt the railings of the barrier pressing into the small of her back.

 

The tie-dye ghosts were almost upon her now and Molly could only see one way out.

 

She lent back over the barrier as far as she could go. Her head and torso went down and her legs went up. The fall to the ground wasn't far, but it still hurt a lot to land flat on her back, her whole body smarting. However, there was no time to recover in a leisurely fashion because above her the ghosts were still floating downwards towards her.

 

Molly scrambled to her feet, noticing that her skates had magically disappeared. She ran in the direction of where she had last seen Sherlock and Loki talking, but they were no longer there. She turned about, searching for Mrs Hudson's face among the throng, but the people were rushing about so quickly that everything looked a blur.

 

She turned about again. The three ghosts were still following her, slowly and steadily perusing her. By now people were panicking and rushing to the exits as they fast as they could run.

 

A sudden gap in the crowd revealed Loki slumped on the ground, leaning against the trunk of a tree and looking as limp as a rag doll. Molly ran straight towards him, falling to her knees. She shook the Trickster's shoulder roughly.

 

“Get up!” she barked. “There are people in danger!”

 

But it was to no avail. Loki's skin was as pale as the snow and his breathing sounded painful and uneven.

 

“Molly!”

 

Sherlock was charging towards her. As soon as he reached her, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. And then he spotted the trio of rainbow ghosts drifting towards them.

 

“What are those?” he asked, voice sounding unusually reedy. Then he shook his head, pushing his fear and confusion aside. “Never mind. Let's just run!”

 

“What about Loki and Mrs Hudson?”

 

Sherlock dropped to the floor beside Loki. He tilted Loki's chin up and carefully lifted his eyelids. Loki's eyes had turned into vivid, rainbow coloured orbs, staring blankly at the world. Sherlock let his head drop.

 

“They're clearly after him,” he said. “We should leave him and run.”

 

“We should,” Molly agreed. “He's not really our problem and we're in way over heads.”

 

“It would be the sensible thing.”

 

“Okay, let's go.”

 

Simultaneously , they bent down to pull Loki's arms around their shoulders and hauled him off the ground. It was enough to rouse Loki slightly. He groaned loudly and instinctively tried to pull away.

 

“No, no, Loki, stay with us,” Molly told him. “Use your legs.”

 

Sherlock grunted under Loki's weight. He smiled. “We're really bad at running away!”

 

“Yeah,” Molly panted. “I think we messed the process up slightly.” She looked over her shoulder to see the three rainbow ghosts slowly floating nearer and nearer to them, but otherwise appeared to be quite passive. “They're taking their time. Is that a good thing?”  
  


“Uh, yes, of course it is.”

 

“That's a lie.”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted. “They're probably taking it slow because they can see that we're easy prey.”

 

“Then how do we stop them from attacking us?”

 

Sherlock had no answer for her. Thankfully, Loki stirred beside him, eyes still coloured like a rainbow. He pointed shakily ahead to where a small gazebo stood, selling stuffed toys.

 

“That...way...” he rasped.

 

From their vantage point in the sky the three ghosts watched lazily as their quarry shuffled slowly under the cover of a tent-like structure, and after a few moments, reappeared on the other side, moving a little more quickly now.

 

The ghosts, now worried that they might just get away if they were allowed to, swooped down after them. It was time to end it. However, just before they could reach them, the trio broke apart, each member running in a different direction.

 

The smallest ghost chased after Molly. It wasn't many seconds before it caught up and dived at her, hands outstretched. It fell straight through her. It looked up to see Molly's image flicker and disappear.

 

The second ghost swiped at Sherlock's back, only for the detective to fade away.

 

Loki stopped suddenly and the third ghost dived through him.

 

As one the tie-dye ghosts realised that they had been tricked and together soared high into the air. It didn't take them long to spot the two humans practically dragging the Trickster away in the opposite direction, trying to keep undercover as much as possible, moving from stall to stall.

 

They fell into a sharp dive, hissing loudly. The human man spotted them just in time to throw the whole grow headlong at the ground. The ghosts swooped over them, narrowly missing them. They arched in the air and turned about ready to attack again.

 

Molly reached across Loki's back for Sherlock's hand, squeezing it tightly. She closed her eyes waiting for the ghosts to grab them, or to slash at them, whatever it is that tie-dye ghosts do to their victims.

 

But the attack never came. Molly looked up to see two people – a man and a woman – dressed up as Victorian carol singers. They looked very traditional, but it was hardly fitting for engaging in a fight against the ghosts. Whoever they were they seemed to put the ghosts off, who hung silently and unmoving in the air.

 

The woman knelt in front of them, placing her hands on Loki's head.

 

“Loki...” she murmured worriedly, running her hand over his cheek. She turned her sharp gaze to Molly. “Are you hurt?”

 

Molly shook her head.

 

“Then, please, take Loki, and leave the Vibrant to us,” the man said to them with a wry smiled. “We will protect you all. Quickly now!”

 

Molly and Sherlock climbed to their feet, and the man lifted Loki onto Sherlock's back as though he weighed no more than a kitten. Sherlock, however, felt every last ounce of the Trickster's weight bearing down on him.

 

“Sigyn...,” Loki breathed.

 

Once again the woman ran her fingers down his face, shushing him.

 

“Just keep Loki safe,” she said to Sherlock, looking determined. “We'll find you later, now go!”

 

With a crackle of energy the woman's appearance had altered drastically. She was no longer a meek looking blonde woman in a cumbersome dress, but a blue-skinned elf ready to fight. She reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out a small wooden box with intricate gold carvings of swirls and circles. She looked back to see the humans hurrying away as fast as they could go, but the man was struggling under Loki's dead weight. A glance upwards told her that the Vibrant were itching to attack again, making sharp little bobs up and down in the sky.

 

“Let's go, Thor!” Sigyn said, sharply. “Put your Battle Aspect on.”

 

However, Thor looked like he was having a little trouble changing. He kept slamming his umbrella against the ground as if he expected something to happen, but nothing did.

 

“Thor?”

 

“I know, just give me a second to -” Thor tried one last time. The brolly snapped in two under the force. He looked up sharply. “This isn't my umbrella!”

 

“What?” Sigyn wouldn't take her eyes off the Vibrant.

 

“It's not Mjolnir! I picked up the wrong brolly!”

 

“Oh, Odin's beard, Thor!”

 

“It'll be alright. Just hang on.”

 

Thor stretched out his hand to summon his hammer. He could feel it far away, just begging to be reunited with him. Well, its wish was granted as Thor silently gave the command for it come to him, as fast as possible.

* * *

 

 

Back at Mycroft's home, the man himself was anxiously pacing up and down, leaving a trail of sooty footprints over the hard wood floor, as a flurry of reports came in one after the other, and none of them positive.

 

He had, of course, alerted his people to keep close tabs on Thor and Sigyn, and to also look out for Loki, but warned them not to approach the Asgardians. They had photographs of the Trickster dating back to the 1840s, blending in seamlessly beside the Queen and Albert, so tracking him down was not seen as a difficult task.

 

And, yes, in the final few minutes his people had found Loki – good! But, he was seen in the company of Sherlock – massive eye-roll. And they were being attacked by colourful ghost-like creatures – what?

 

SHIELD was promptly alerted and would be on the scene hopefully before anybody was hurt, but that wasn't going to stop Mycroft from going himself. Someone responsible had to be there to liaise with the Americans. He was glad to hear that Agent Coulson was on duty. He was a good man.

 

“Car's here, sir,” the housekeeper informed him. Then she saw the mess. “Oh, what happened -”

 

“Nothing to worry about, Daisy. Only a couple of Asgardians passing through. Pass me my umbrella, will you?”

 

Daisy went to the umbrella stand, and on seeing only one brolly there did not stop to examine it more closely. If she had she would have noticed that it was not Mycroft's. Instead she mindlessly tried to lift it, and was most surprised when she found that she could not. She grunted and huffed as she pulled with all her might.

 

“Problem, Daisy?”

 

“Have you glued it down, sir, as some kind of joke?”

 

“Do I look like the joking kind?”

 

“Well, you lift it then.”

 

Mycroft joined her by the umbrella stand, glancing down.

 

“For a start, Daisy, this is not my umbrella.” He took hold of the handle and tried to lift, but failed. If anything it almost felt like the umbrella was pulling away from him. Which it was. Mjolnir knew who it liked and disliked. And then it heard Thor calling it.

 

Mycrorft raised an eyebrow as the umbrella began to judder and bounce around in the wooden stand.

 

“Look out!” he yelled, knocking the housekeeper to the floor as the umbrella took to flight and went straight out of the window, shattering the bullet-proof glass as easily as a pencil can thrown through a wet piece of paper.

 

“Oh, my goodness!” Daisy wheezed. “That thing almost speared us!”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed.

 

“And you saved my life.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Can I leave early as I almost died?”

 

“Absolutely not. You can leave when you die. Now clean up this mess.”

* * *

 

 

Mjolnir hurtled across the snowy sky, turning back into hammer form as it went, and not slowing down a jot, not for a single building. Big Ben was due a refurbishment anyway. It landed in Thor's hand with such force that if Thor had been mortal his whole arm would have shattered. As soon as the handle hit his palm, his Victorian clothes were transformed into his armour and crimson cloak.

 

“Now I'm ready,” he told Sigyn.

 

She held up the wooden box. “Good, but remember that we're don't want to hurt them permanently, just -”

 

“Even after what they did to Loki?”

 

“Even after that, yes.”

 

There was no more time to argue as the smallest ghost spat out a mouthful of rainbow liquid at Sigyn. It would have splashed over Sigyn's face, but Thor held Mjolnir out in front of her. The hammer was coated with the bright, gloopy fluid, looking like it had been turned into one of those swirly lollipops.

 

It gave Thor a bad feeling. He held Mjolnir aloft, but was unable to summon a single lightening bolt. He couldn't even make Sigyn's white hair stand up on end.

 

Sigyn leapt backwards as the leader of the Vibrant squirted its own rainbow goop at her. It very nearly hit her full in the face. She waved her hand, summoning her ice magic and forming it into a spear. She threw it at the Vibrant, but it had no effect. The Vibrant had opened its mouth and swallowed the spear whole, burping out a few snowflakes.

 

Sigyn clapped. “Aren't you clever?” she cooed.

 

“Without Mjolnir working we don't stand a chance!” Thor informed her, desperately trying to wipe the goop off with his cloak. “We should retreat for now and come up with a new plan!”

 

Sigyn nodded and turned on her heel, leading the way.

 

They quickly caught up with Molly and Sherlock, who had only just made it to Santa Land by the entrance. Wordlessly, Thor drew up alongside Sherlock and removed Loki from his back and placing him across his own shoulder. Sherlock nodded his thanks, relieved at not being weighed down any longer.

 

By now the park had almost emptied out completely and the Vibrant had a clear shot at them. They rushed at them, diving sharply and only pulling up at the last minute.

 

Thor turned to face them.

 

“Even you have de-powered Mjolnir,” he roared, “I can still throw my bro -”

 

“Don't you dare throw Loki at them!” Sigyn snarled.

 

“No-o,” Thor chuckled, nervously, holding onto Loki tightly. “I wasn't thinking that at all...”

 

Just then there was a loud screech of car tyres and the blare of a horn being held down. They leapt out of the way just in time as a garish red mini with pictures of Rudolph painted on its green doors, came tearing through the park, swerving in between the attractions with great agility.

 

It sped towards the Vibrant with increasing speed, horn screaming loudly. The Vibrant hissed back in defiance, but their bravado was all show, for as soon as the tiny car neared they melted away, in a swirl of colour, disappearing from sight and moving into the negative realm.

 

“W-who is that?” Sherlock demanded.

 

Sigyn laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, we're safe now. It's only my dad. And about time too.”

 

The mini spun around to face them, handbrake being applied with a loud crunch. The door swung open with a creak, and the man who stepped out seemed too large to have fitted in such a small car in the first place.

 

He was very old looking, but strong and not a bit frail. He had a big bushy, white beard, large round belly, and a long, green coat with fur trimming and decorated with shiny holly leaves and gleaming red berries. He took his time in staring at each member of the party. His thick eyebrows were knitted together like one who is trying to look stern, but the friendly twinkle in his eyes gave away him away.

 

“Sigyn,” he cried in booming voice. “My girl! Are you safe?”

 

With a cautious glance at Thor, Sigyn quickly kissed Loki's forehead before running over to embrace her father.

 

“Sherlock!” Molly hissed into her friend's ear. “Are you seeing what I'm seeing? Because that looks an awful like you-know-who!”

 

“Voldemort?” Sherlock whispered back.

 

“No, you twit! The other you-know-who!”

 

“Well, pardon me for being a bit slow, but I am trying to rethink my entire childhood, Molly, because he does look exactly my idea of you-know-who. Not Voldemort, but -”

 

The man turned to face them with a broad grin. “I can hear you whispering, you know.”

 

They both squeaked in alarm.

 

“I am Jolnir,” the man said, with a bow of his round head. “You may know me as Father Christmas. It is a pleasure to see you both looking so grown up, Molly and Sherlock.”

 

* * *

 

_AN: Phew, wrote this very quickly, so sorry for any mistakes and for rushed feel._

_So, Sigyn is pregnant, the tie-dye ghosts are called the Vibrant and vomit rainbows, and Loki's father-in-law is Father Christmas._

 

_I feel like talking about the costumes for Thor and Loki. They're really good!_

 

_Okay, so in Thor 1, a Frost Giant grabs Loki's left arm, turning it blue, and making Loki realise the truth about his heritage. So, in Thor 2 you see Loki wearing mismatched sleeves on his shirt. This is clearest in the cell scene. The right sleeve is ordinary, but the left has sort of ruffles to it, reflecting the conflict in his personal identity and mixed heritage._

 

_Normally, Loki wears green and black, but by Ragnarök and IW he wears blue. Blue is Sigyn's colour, symbolising loyalty. It's sad that he dies wearing a mixture of blue and green, showing his loyalty and mischievous nature. I think that it shows Loki has finally achieved a balance to his nature. He can be a good trickster, like Doctor Who maybe._

 

_Loki was marooned on Sakaar for weeks before Thor appeared, and lead Loki to believe that he had been killed by Hela. He must have mourned for Odin and Thor alone, thinking that Asgard had been taken over._

 

_In Avengers 1, Thor has an outline of Loki's helmet etched onto his vembraces (armour for the forearms) as a show of respect for his brother. In Avengers 2, he has a hair braid with a black ribbon woven into it, perhaps as sign of mourning for Loki and Frigga._

 

_Jolnir appears in an animated Avengers Christmas special called Frost Fight, in which Loki is trying to steal his magic powers and thus ruin Christmas. Gasp. I've not seen it. Jolnir is the son of a Light Elf and a Frost Giant. He delivers toys to all children in the 9 Realms and is incredibly powerful._

 

_Thanks for reading!_

 


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly go with Loki and the others.

 

For Sherlock Holmes, this was by far both the most confusing and exhilarating Christmas he had ever experienced. There could be no better cure for boredom than discovering that you actually know very little about the universe after all. It was wonderful. Only a few hours ago he had not believed in the existence of Loki, Thor (they had not been introduced, but there could be no mistaking the identity of the muscle-bound man wielding a hammer), or Father Christmas. But, now, he was standing in the presence of all three. He had heard Father Christmas call the elf Sigyn and referred to her as his daughter – Father Christmas with an elf daughter, was that odd? And it wasn't difficult to deduce that she was either Loki's girlfriend, or wife even. And to top it all he had been attacked by rainbow ghosts. It was better than just wonderful, it was super wonderful.

 

He couldn't help but chuckle as he cried, “You're Father Christmas!” in a voice that sounded suspiciously child-like and pointing at the white-bearded man, swathed in green. Then he cleared his voice, and said a deep voice, “hello.”

 

The old man smiled back at him, extending a chubby hand.

 

“Call me Jolnir, Sherlock,” he said, warmly.

 

Sherlock chuckled again as he shook Jolnir's hand. “I'm having the best case – ever! Loki, thank you!”

 

Molly nudged him with her elbow. “Timing,” she whispered, gently. She tilted her head to one side, directing Sherlock's gaze over her shoulder.

 

Thor and the Sigyn had sat Loki up against a tree. The Trickster's eyes were open and rainbow free. For a moment he looked a little groggy, staring unfocused between the two, but then he suddenly became alert, throwing his arms around Sigyn. She wrapped her arms around his neck. They tightly embraced, rubbing their cheeks against one another.

 

“Aww,” Molly sighed. “Is that his girlfriend?”

 

“Oh, no, they're married,” Jolnir answered. “200 years in a few days.”

 

Molly gasped. “So, you're Loki's father-in-law?”

 

“I am,” Jolnir said, proudly.

 

“His actual father-in-law?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But, he's the Trickster, the Master of Lies...and you're the sweetest, most lovable man in all of history....and you're Loki's father-in-law?!”

 

In a rare moment of social awareness, Sherlock shushed her, saying, “Molly – manners!”

 

“Sorry,” Molly muttered, face flushing red. “I just – uh - “

 

“No, it's fine,” Jolnir sighed heavily. “I get it all the time.”

 

Meanwhile, by the tree Loki lightly kissed Sigyn's blue hair.

 

“I'm so sorry, Sigyn, for forgetting you,” he whispered into her ear.

 

She smiled wryly at him.

 

“Oh, good, so you can remember my name. And I'm sorry that it took so long for us to find you.”

 

“Why? How long was I missing for?”

 

“Only since this afternoon. Twelve hours at most.”

 

“Oh. Not as bad as I thought, then.”

 

He winced as her narrow arms moved from his neck down to his waist. She, of course, noticed.

 

“But, you are hurt?”

 

“Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Thor snorted at that, earning a glare from Loki.

 

“Oh, my darling, that is a lie!” cried Sign. “With the Vibrant poison still in your system you will have increasing periods of delirium and confusion.”

 

“I'm not affected,” Loki replied, stubbornly.

 

“Then what did I tell you yesterday?”

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. If you could remember then you'd know what I meant. Now, who are they?”

 

“Thor. And Jolnir.”

 

“Good. One point to you. Now tell me the names of your two friends.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The mortals.”

 

A frown appeared on Loki's face as he thought hard. It troubled Sigyn to see the tell-tale flash of colour in his eyes.

 

“Oh. That's, uh, urm...” He was starting to feel concerned himself. He wasn't used to suffering forgetfulness. His face lit up when he seized upon the answer. “That is Poirot and his assistant, Miss Marple. She's the tall one with the dark, curly hair.”

 

Sigyn laughed gently as she pressed her forehead to his, saying, “You _do_ need healing. The sooner the better.”

 

From somewhere in the distance came the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter.

 

Jolnir opened the creaky passenger door to his mini. “I'm afraid that SHEILD and your brother, Sherlock, are on their way. The snow will slow down their cars, but the chopper will be here at any second. So, everyone pile in. Sherlock, Molly, lovely to see you both. Oh, and merry Christmas.”

 

Molly looked dubiously at the tiny, battered vehicle as Sigyn and Thor led Loki towards it.

 

She heard Loki ask, “Is that a bear?”, sounding nervous as he clung onto Sigyn's arm.

 

“Don't worry, Loki, it's a car. You've been in a car before.”

 

Molly had no idea how all three people would fit in it, let alone Thor who looked as though it would be a tight squeeze even if he were the only passenger and all the seats had been taken out. It made her wonder where the famous sleigh was.

 

Jolnir saw her looking and smiled broadly. “Just keep watching, Molly. You'll like this next bit.”

 

Molly smiled back. She had no doubt that she would, however Sherlock was visibly disappointed to see them go. He had held his curiosity back for too long and was now ready to burst.

 

“Wait!” he cried. “Is it true that you deliver toys to every single child on Earth?”

 

Jolnir nodded, as behind him Sigyn, Loki, and Thor all easily climbed into the back of the car. “I give toys to all the children in the Nine Realms.”

 

“How?”

 

“Well -”

 

“Do you have reindeer?” Molly butted in, unable to help herself. She was brimming full of questions too.

 

“Uh -”

 

“Or little elves?”

 

“Do you go down the chimney?”

 

“What about places that don't have chimneys? Like a block of flats.”

 

“Does the Queen get a present?”

 

“How do you make all those toys anyway?”

 

The sound of the helicopter grew louder. It was almost directly overhead now. Sherlock's phone rang shrilly – Mycroft trying to urgently speak to him.

 

Sigyn stuck her head out of the door. “Odin's beard, Dad, we have to go! Just bring them with us. We owe them a favour and, anyway, it would be unfair to leave them now.”

 

Jolnir nodded in agreement. He stood back from the door. “Molly, in the back. Sherlock, you better sit up front. More leg room.”

 

There was immediate protests from back.

 

“What about my legs?” Thor grunted.

 

“Young man, don't make me pull this car over!”

 

“What are you talking about? We're not even moving-”

 

“I won't say it again! Any more of your nonsense, Thor Odinson, and I shall speak to your father.”

 

Thor folded his arms crossly, muttering darkly under his breath.

 

Sherlock and Molly looked at one another.

 

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked.

 

Molly nodded eagerly and hand in hand they ran to the car. At the same time a jeep, coated in snow, bounced into the park, snow flying out from under its wheels. Agent Coulson and Mycroft leapt out with a number of SHEILD agents.

 

Thor saw an opportunity. As Jolnir was squeezing his bulk behind the wheel, Thor wound down the window to yell, “Mycroft Holmes! I've just met your little brother! It is a pity that you can't keep him under control! Oh, and one other thing: thou art a loser!”

 

Sherlock lent across Jolnir to snap a photo of Mycroft's face with his phone.

 

“My new profile picture,” he said, proudly. “What?” he asked when he saw Jolnir's face.

 

Jolnir turned the key in the ignition and slammed the dashboard with his fist. “I'm surrounded by adult-children,” he observed blandly as the car came to life.

 

And as the saying goes, he put the pedal to the metal and the tiny car leapt forward like a tiger out of a cage. The car raced forward, it's engine roaring. Sherlock held onto his seat as he watched the red needle on the speedometer spin around the dial frantically. Outside, the stalls and attractions of the Winter Wonderland had become blurry streaks of colour. Up ahead Sherlock saw the lights of the ice-rink rapidly approaching, but Jolnir held firmly onto the steering-wheel, making no effort to manoeuvrer at all. He must have sensed Sherlock's discomfort because he waggled his thick eyebrows at him in a cheery sort-of way. Sherlock relaxed a little. The detective's trust was not misplaced, because instead of crashing and killing them all (which would be terrible) the car simply drove through the ice-rink as though it had been made of smoke (which was a good thing).

 

The brown, green, and black streaks of the park outside began to transform into more vivid shades of pinks and purples, blues and greens, with ephemeral flashes of white energy as the car teleported the group from the corporal world into a portal.

 

“Almost home!” Jolnir said, cheerfully. He glanced into the rear-view mirror. “How's Loki doing?”

 

The Trickster was slumped down low in his seat, with his head resting on Sigyn's shoulder. She held him close, stroking his hair with one hand. His eyes were only half-open and every now and then there would be a flash of colour, like the rainbows caught in a puddles of motor oil.

 

“He's pretty out of it,” Sigyn said, worriedly.

 

“Then heal him now.”

 

“He won't like it.”

 

“He never does, my sweet. Best get it over with.” He clicked on the indicator as he sharply turned the car left down another rainbow tunnel, which was more narrow than the one before. “Sherlock, Molly, don't distress yourselves if you hear Loki scream. Healing magic has always had an odd effect on him. It works for him, but it always hurts him in the process.”

 

“That's terrible,” Molly said, from her cramped spot beside Thor. “Why is that?”

 

“We don't know,” the Thunderer answered, accidentally jabbing Molly with his elbow. “It is a problem he was born with, a quirk of his Frost Giant blood -”

 

“Frost Giant? But, he's not as tall – uh, never mind, please excuse me.”

 

Sigyn had rolled her eyes to the ceiling and now she spoke up, “Well, we think it's more likely the All-Father mucked up his _Jotun_ neurology when he found Loki as a baby and turned him Aesir, transforming him into a Jotun-Aesir hybrid. It's no wonder he has neurological quirks. He would have been fine if Odin had allowed remain as he was.” She planted a kiss on Loki's hair.

 

“Sigyn,” Jolnir said, in a warning tone. “Let's not fight.”

 

“Thor doesn't mind. Besides, Odin named me as the goddess of Truth therefore -”

 

“Young lady, Loki uses that excuse often enough: _oh, I couldn't help turning your hair pink, Dad, because I'm the god of Mischief._ Don't you dare start copying him. One Trickster in the family is enough. Now, then...” Jolnir waved his hand and around them the interior of the car extended and stretched outwards, warping and shimmering until it had turned into a splendid golden sleigh with red seats, and pulled, of course, by two mighty reindeer.

 

“Wow!” Molly gasped.

 

“Knew you'd like it.”

 

Sherlock tore off his glove and reached out to touch the glimmering lights. They flowed over his fingers like running water and felt cool to the touch. Jolnir swung his arm over his seat, holding his hand out to Molly so that she could climb into the front and sit beside Sherlock. Once again they held hands as they marvelled at all the bright lights shimmering around them.

 

In the back, Sigyn had laid Loki out over the seats, and was standing in front of him. Thor was next to her, holding onto Loki's arms in his tight grip. Sigyn quickly unfastened the buttons on Loki's shirt and carefully cut through the bandage with a pair of delicate looking silver scissors she had taken from her pocket. The Trickster moaned softly as the soiled bandaged was removed, peeled away, and then tossed over the side of the sleigh. An angry wound was revealed, bright red and leaking a rainbow coloured liquid.

 

“Let's do this quickly,” Thor said, quietly.

 

Sigyn bent down to kiss Loki's forehead. “This will be over soon, my love.”

 

Loki, barely conscious, had finally become aware that something unpleasant was about to happen. The sweat gleamed on his pale skin as he tried to break free of Thor's grip and kicking his legs feebly.

 

“No...” he groaned. “Don't....”

 

“It's okay, brother,” Thor told him. “I've got you.”

 

“Can I help?” Sherlock offered.

 

“No, thank you. He's far too strong for you.”

 

Sigyn was holding her hands cupped in front of her, staring at them in intense concentration. A sphere of gentle blue light appeared there and then, bending down, she pressed the ball of light into the wound. Loki shrieked in agony, arching his back, and slamming his legs against the side of the sleigh. The wood splintered under the impact.

 

“Careful, Sigyn!” Thor boomed, as the elf narrowly avoided being kneed in the face, as Loki convulsed under them. Even with all his strength he was failing to hold Loki still. However, Sigyn held on grimly and wouldn't move away, pushing the healing magic into Loki's body and silently bidding it to do its work as swiftly as possible.

 

Sherlock placed his arm around Molly's shoulder. She was clearly spooked by the process and he wasn't feeling much braver. Hearing someone screeching in pain was always frightening.

 

Thankfully, the magic worked quickly, binding the wound closed once and for, replacing lost blood, and dispelling the Vibrant's poison in a cloud of colourful steam from Loki's pore. Slowly, his screams quietened down into moans and then into pants for breath, slowly falling completely still.

 

Thor slumped down onto the floor of the sleigh, exhausted, while Sigyn opted for flopping down alongside Loki. She held onto his hand as she combed her fingers through his sweaty hair.

 

Through drooping eyelids he offered her shaky smile.

 

“Don't say anything,” she told him, quietly. “Go to sleep now. And I have a wonderful surprise to tell you later.”

 

“You're pregnant,” Sherlock stated, unthinkingly. “I saw you rubbing your -”

 

“Sherlock!” Molly squealed. “Honestly, I -!”

 

Sigyn sat up, as she unpinned her blue cloak and tucked it around her husband. “It's okay. He's asleep,” she said, flatly. “But, do keep it a secret, please!”

 

Sherlock nodded silently, looking bashful and not at all liking the look Thor was giving him.

 

“Little brothers, they're all the same...” he heard Thor mutter. “Loud-mouthed, troublemakers...”

 

At least Father Christmas was happy. Although, Sigyn had already informed her parents of the news, he couldn't help but beam every time he was reminded of it.

 

“I'm going to be a grandfather!” Jolnir sang happily. He gave the reins a firm shake. “Onwards, boys! I want to get home to celebrate!”

 

“After I've told Loki!” Sigyn insisted, as the speed of the sleigh suddenly increased.

 

“You've already told him once, dear.”

 

“Yes, but it's not his fault he forgot. I am going to enjoy telling him a second time. Sherlock, could I borrow your phone for the occasion? I'm hoping he will have the same reaction and I'd love to have a photo.”

 

* * *

 

_AN: I think that Thor would also be very excited at the prospect of becoming an uncle._

_16 weeks till Christmas, guys! I've already seen Lego advent calenders being sold in the shops._

 

_Here's a list of Loki's children from the myths:_

_By Sigyn: Nari/Narfi and possibly Vali, although the Prose Edda (written by good old Snorri Sturluson) isn't very clear about who is Vali's father. People just tend to associate him with Sigyn._

 

_By Svaõlifari (a stallion): Slepnir, Odin's eight-legged horse. Uh, there were reasons (needing to distract the stallion so that the Aesir could have some building work done cheaply – it's complicated)...but, yeah, Loki turned into a mare, did what horses do, and gave birth to Slepnir. Perfectly normal._

 

_By the witch/giantess, Angrbroda: Hela (Odin's daughter in the MCU), Fenris the Wolf (Hela's pet in the MCU), and Jõrmungandr the World Snake, a.ka. Jorgi._

 

_Jorgi is the only one of the three not to have shown up yet in the MCU, but given that in the original myths he is the one to kill Thor during Ragnarok and because in the Marvel universe Thor knows of a prophecy which says he will be killed by the Midgard Serpent, I'm going to guess that Jorgi will show up in the MCU at some point. Eaten by your own snake-nephew...what a way to go...Thanks for reading!_

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little about Loki and Sigyn's relationship

 

_An: I apologise for the delay! This is an extra long chapter I wanted to write about Loki and Sigyn's relationship. I thought about cutting it in two but didn't want to interrupt the flow of the narrative. And I want to get back to writing the Sherlolly side of this fic as soon as possible._

* * *

 

**1810**

 

With so little time left until their wedding there was an unspoken uncertainty about how they should spend their time together. Both Loki and Sigyn felt curiosity about the other and the desire to learn more about the one to whom they would be bound for life, but there was also a fear that they would be repulsed by what they discovered – perhaps accidentally uncovering some disgusting habit or discovering that the other had a secret hobby which would prove to be abhorrent – their imaginations were running wild, and so both decided in their own minds that it was better to exist in a state of semi-ignorance and be content with what they did know and admired and already loved. After all many couple survived in this way; joined together by lawful union but living with their hearts far apart.

 

It was an attitude encouraged by their respective, overprotective mothers.

 

“If this were a love-match I would not be worried for you,” Frigga said to Loki. “Sigyn is a lovely girl, but you're not really ready to wed, are you, my son? Therefore do not try to force yourself to feel love for her where none truly exists. Affection will grow slowly over time, but to force it will only bring trouble to you in the end. Resentment will sprout up in the place of love. Be kind, be gentle always, but do not pretend to love. It is the most destructive of lies.”

 

“While I have no doubt that the prince must have many attractive qualities,” Astra wrote Sigyn in a letter, “for, as you know, I always trust your father's judgement, as foolish and misguided as it often first appears to be, and that there is potential for happiness in your marriage, I still must impress upon you the importance of guarding your heart for at least the first twenty years at minimum. Hold back, be secretive, do not reveal all until you have the true measure of his own character and heart. And then – and only then – may you love and adore him with all your great heart. But do not forget who he is and what he is. Having written all of that I have no desire to dampen your spirits, so I will the take the time to remind you that things often turn out well in the end, but if not you can always take a lover.”

 

With such golden, heart-warming advice being thrust at them from both sides, it was hardly surprising that both Loki and Sigyn experienced a mood of heightened melancholy for a short time, and with their heads filled with such doubts, exhibited some coolness to one another.

 

Their conversations would go something like this:

 

“The garden looks as pleasant as it did last week,” Sigyn would desperately observe, perhaps for the fiftieth time.

 

“Yes,” Loki would agree, as he did each time. After thirty seconds of reflection might dare to add: “Gardening has never been a hobby of mine. Do you...?”

 

“No, not particularly.”

 

Silence. Awkward sideward glances. Mutual feelings of rejection, confusion, shame, unhappiness. Loki would think about running away again. Sigyn would consider appealing to her father to call off the wedding. And then a return to stiff and unfeeling conversation. Repeat. There never could be any joy in treading the tightrope of civility and emotional distance and they would bound to overbalance sooner or later.

 

Thankfully, this unhappy cycle soon came to an end. Sigyn was far too wise to listen to everything her mother said and Loki too contrary to listen to his. Astra had told Sigyn to withhold affection, but Sigyn could see no sense in this and so she discarded the advice. Frigga had told Loki he was not ready to be married and so he soon decided that he absolutely was and that he loved Sigyn more than anybody else did. We shouldn't rule out the possibility that this was Frigga's plan all along.

 

The break in the cycle went something like this:

 

“I'm dying,” said one.

 

“So early in the afternoon?” inquired the other.

 

“Of boredom,” claimed the one.

 

“And I,” admitted the other.

 

“And of politeness and rules and restrictions and of holding back the heart,” complained the one.

 

“And I,” sighed the other.

 

“Fly with me,” he demanded.

 

“Where to?” said she.

 

“The stars,” growled he.

 

“Really?” laughed she.

 

“The forest,” said he. “Where we can be alone and free from fear and interfering mothers.”

 

“Lose the guard,” said she, nimble fingers already unbuttoning her dress.

 

“It is done,” said he, and together they transformed into hawks and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening exploring the forest and enjoying each others company without restraint. For what their oh-so wise mothers had not considered was the possibility that their children might actually be desperately and hopelessly in love with one another.

 

* * *

 

 

The following week they returned to the forest to escape the endless wedding preparations which were constantly going on around them, but over which they were allowed no control or input.

 

Loki sat up in the bough of an ancient Asgardian ash tree, reading, while Sigyn sat nestled among its roots below, selecting and collecting leaves into a wicker basket. It was that time of year when the trees looked bare and in want of colour and there was a chilling breeze in the air.

 

“What are you reading?” Sigyn asked.

 

Instead of answering her directly, Loki read from the page: “Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack, from my first entrance in, drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning if I lacked anything.”

 

Sigyn had plucked a brown leaf from her basket and was holding it up to the light. _A palmate leaf_ , she told herself, _from the horse-chestnut tree_ , for she had a keen memory and ability for identifying each shape of leaf (there were many different names) and from what tree they had fallen. It was a tatty leaf, it's life long over, and with many tears and holes, but Sigyn knew she could make it beautiful again. She pressed her index finger to the leaf and from the tip of her finger a gentle frost spread out, travelling out from the centre to the tip of each leaflet and down the stem, freezing the leaf and turning it white and blue. It sparkled in the light as she turned it over in her hand before selecting an appropriate place to attach to on her growing leaf crown, eventually settling on placing it next to lobbed oak leaf, for contrast in shape.

 

Loki had opened his mouth to begin the next verse, but Sigyn spoke first, “Love bade me welcome,” she quoted. “I like that. It's sticks in the mind.”

 

“Hmm,” he grunted, non-committally, flicking through the pages.

 

She smiled coyly. “And I like how you read to me. You have a very pleasant voice and make it come alive for me.”

 

Sigyn's eyes were turned downwards to her frosted leaf crown, but she was satisfied to see in her peripheral vision a smile creep across her fiancée's mouth.

 

“Thank you,” he said in a cool tone, as though the compliment meant nothing to him at all. In truth his heart was in conflict, for although he found that he always cherished Sigyn's compliments (whatever they may be) in the past he had often been criticised for being too softly spoken and was rather self-conscious about his voice.

 

“So, how did our nameless narrator answer Love?”

 

Loki cleared his throat and continued:

 

“'A guest', I answered, 'worthy to be here'. Love said: you shall be he. 'I the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on thee.' Love took my hand and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?”

 

Sigyn added one final frozen leaf to her crown – an oval maple leaf – in the very centre, like a jewel, and, her craft now complete, placed it on her head. She looked at Loki expectantly.

 

“Beautiful,” he told her.

 

Smiling sweetly, Sigyn took hold of his hand. “Are you going to show me around?”

 

“I've already done so.”

 

“Not everywhere, though.”

 

“No,” he admitted, looking reluctant.

 

For a moment she thought that he would turn down her request, but then he resolutely closed the book with a firm _clap_ and helped her to her feet.

 

“And afterwards, we could go for a fly?” he suggested. “It's always quite something to soar over the citadel during sunset.”

 

She nodded her consent and off they went.

 

* * *

 

 

As they wandered around the palace, Sigyn's mind could not help but focus on the numbers that now dominated her life.

 

One day to go until the week of ritual cleansing began.

 

One week and two days till their wedding day.

 

Nine days.

 

Seven days of celebration.

 

And then what? How many of thousands of years would they be married for before one or both of them dropped dead? 5,000 years? 9,000 years? 20,000 years? How many days was that? Impossible numbers that stretched out endlessly before her. How would they fill the time?

 

Up until now Sigyn had given little consideration to living for so long, never worrying about it or fearing it – she was young and everyday was still a joy - and had given marriage even less thought than that, but now everything had changed. For the first time in her relatively short life she was truly apprehensive of the future.

 

She was the kind to believe in love at first sight and believed that she loved Loki, she was sure of it. She adored his intelligence, his charm, and his passion for books and magic. But, even all that love was not quite enough to blot out all of the doubts which soaked through her mind like black ink split over a white sheet of paper.

 

Throughout the palace were numerous murals depicting Asgard's dominance over the Nine Realms. All of those vainglorious paintings had been created to make the Asgardians look as divine as possible and their rule as one of mercy and compassion, leading the other species out of the dark and into the light. To an outsider it was hardly flattering to see one's own people portrayed as being subservient to the Aesir and in desperate need of rescuing from their own shortcomings.

 

Most of them Sigyn was able to ignore, but then she spotted an oil painting which showed one of the early Asgardian king handing over a sphere of light to a grateful and hungry looking elf. She could hold her tongue no longer.

 

“Do your people really believe that they gave _us_ magic?” Sigyn asked, incredulously. “Even though it is well recorded that Jolnir – my father – is the creator and master of space-time magic. And - ”

 

“Don't take it to heart, Sigyn. It's only shameless propaganda designed to make the Royals feel better about themselves. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence can see through it.”

 

“But it is a lie.”

 

“The whole of Asgard is built upon a foundation of lies. One gets used to it eventually.” He took hold of her hand and led her down a large corridor with statues of past warriors placed at regular intervals.

 

At the end of the corridor was a grand oak door which stretched up all the way up to ceiling high above them. On the door itself was a carved depiction of Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, with each of the Nine Realms nestled safely in its branches and circling around it was Jorgumund, the World Serpent. As Sigyn leaned in closer to admire the carving she saw to her delight that Jorgi was actually moving, slithering around Yggdrasil. She gave its head a stroke with the tip of her finger. He wriggled in delight, flicking out its forked-tongue happily.

 

“He likes me,” she cooed.

 

Loki shook his head in disgust. “He never welcomes me.” He reached past Sigyn to place his hand on the trunk of Yggdrasil and pushed the door open.

 

“Welcome to the Hall of Braids,” he announced with a gleam in his eye and stepped back to allow Sigyn in.

 

Even before she stepped over the threshold Sigyn could clearly sense that she was about to enter hallowed ground, that inside was something special and something important. She drew in a breath and stepped inside.

 

It was a place of contradictions: dimly lit and yet everything of importance could easily be seen; stuffy in atmosphere, but full of history and life.

 

Sigyn slowly turned about on the spot, a smile lighting up the whole of her face.

 

Secured to each wall and hanging from the ceiling, were countless braids of hair, of all possible shades and types, and many a combination of those complex variations. Some were plaited, others twisted, some dangled down like a rope while others had been formed into circles or more elaborate shapes, like figures of eight or into spirals. They also varied greatly in length and thickness. Some were so short and thin that they were often overlooked, while some could not be missed.

 

However, the longest and thickest braid hung from the very centre of the hall on a golden hook. The end of it was coiled up on the floor like Jorgi itself, with a diameter wider than Sigyn's hand stretched out as far as it would go. It reminded Sigyn of the huge ropes she had seen onboard the largest of ships back home. It looked so heavy she wondered if it were even possible to lift it.

 

“The braid of the Royal Family,” Loki quietly informed her, standing close beside her. “Once a year each member of the family donates a fresh lock of hair to add to it and so it keeps on growing. Every family on Asgard has one; the larger and more powerful the family, the bigger the braid.”

 

Sigyn could not move her eyes away from the gigantic braid, so many beautiful colours were jumping out at her: silvery whites, sea greys, bright yellows, golden browns, chestnuts, fiery reds, and, yes, from farther down the braid was the familiar shade of jet black which had become so familiar to her.

 

“Those chestnut strands about halfway up belonged to Bor, Odin's father,” Loki told her. “And those ash blonde ones were of his wife, Bestla. As you can see Bestla had more strands within the braid than Bor and you can see their colour slowly fading with each progressive strand, gradually turning from blonde to sea grey to snow white and then...”

 

“No more strands.”

 

“Exactly,” Loki said in a faint whisper.

 

“But, Bor's strands retain their chestnut hue. Therefore, he died on the battlefield. I'd read that he was turned to snow by a mysterious and powerful sorcerer, and that every winter the King can hear his father's voice calling to him. Is that true?”

 

Loki shrugged. “It's just a legend. He perished in a battle against the Frost Giants.” A rueful smile formed on his lips. “He would not have liked me.”

 

Sigyn, of course, noticed the sad look in his eyes and decided to try and alter the conversation.

 

“But, how lovely these braids are,” she cried. “You use them like a family tree, or a knot in a handkerchief, to remind you of the stories of your ancestors.”

 

“Not _my_ ancestors,” Loki replied, bitterly.

 

“I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you,” Sigyn said, quickly.

 

“You? No, you have not hurt me. It's _them_ who have hurt me. They lied to me all my life, humiliated and betrayed me.”

 

He spoke with such venom in his voice and his face was so twisted in anger that Sigyn could not bear to look directly at him. Instead she wandered a little way down the hall making a show of herself admiring each and every braid she came to, while in truth she was giving herself time to consider how she should respond to his outburst.

 

So far the topic of his adoption and true ancestry had not been discussed by them because he had made it clear that he had not wanted to before now, and it saddened Sigyn to see him in so much pain over it. She had seen the murals showing the Jotuns as little more than grotesque monsters to be vanquishedand was well aware that he had been raised with the same attitude. While she was not afraid of how he felt about her (she had never been looked at by him with anything close to disgust in his countenance, but quite the opposite), she was concerned about he how now felt about himself. If you raise a child to fear the monsters lurking in the ice and the darkness, how would that child feel if it discovered it was one of those monsters? Would it not fear itself? Despise itself?

 

Having considered these things Sigyn returned to his side by the family braid. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and hands clenched.

 

“They did lie to you,” she acknowledged in a soft voice. “And they should have known better. Instead, they have left you feeling isolated -”

 

“Stop. I don't need you to tell me what I'm feeling.”

 

His voice was gentle but firm, and so Sigyn took no offence from being interrupted.

 

“I only wanted you to know that I understand and that I care very much for you. I'm right alongside you and always will be.” She pressed her hand to the side of his cheek and watched as a patch of blue slowly spread out from under her fingers and over his face.

 

Green eyes turned red, as he stared at her with a look that was both hurt and hungry. He carefully took her hand in his and guided it away from his cheek, before planting a kiss on the inside of her wrist where the sensitive skin tingled in delight at the sensation. Sigyn drew in sharp breath after sharp breath as each fresh kiss sent a wave of joy rushing up her arm and down her body.

 

“I love you, Sigyn,” he said, breathlessly.

 

“I l-love you, t-too,” she said with a shudder, just as the kisses reached the nape of her exposed neck.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Can we talk about what kind of marriage we'll have?” Sigyn wrote Loki one morning.

 

They were two days into their week of ritual cleansing and were forbidden to see one another. As well as her growing wedding nerved increasing her irritably, she also had to contend with the horrific perfumed oils which had been smothered into her hair that morning and had such an overpowering scent that they were making her eyes water and her nose constantly itch.

 

“They help to prepare your soul for the transformative journey you are about to embark upon,” the hairdresser had informed her primly before forcing Sigyn's head over a metal basin and practically upturning an entire jar of oil over her and then had proceeded to massage it into her locks with sharp nails scraping against her already sore scalp. (The previous day the same hairdresser had tortured Sigyn with a metal-toothed comb to remove every last single flake of dry skin, no matter how minute, from her scalp, and had tutted most incessantly about it while Sigyn had held back tears it was so painful.)

 

“This is a meditative process,” the hairdresser had gone on, talons clawing at Sigyn's head. “Reflect on the child you are and the woman you shall become.” And in then in an unexpected display of sympathy added, “The discomfort is intentional, but it will not last. In all things there is pain and suffering before comfort and joy. The agony of childbirth, the fire purifying the gold, the flower releasing its seeds before withering. Here on Asgard we exist in a continual cycle of growth, change, stagnation, death, rebirth, and then so on. We wait for Ragnarök and the rebirth which will follow it. This week of ritual cleansing is a pain now, but it will be over soon and then it will be your blessed wedding day. Likewise, throughout your marriage you will also experience change and growth, and, yes, there will be times of agony, but perseverance will bring you much joy in the end.” After that speech she had begun to sing an old folk song in a low voice as she washed and rinsed Sigyn's blue hair.

 

Sigyn had kept her eyes tightly shut throughout the whole process and she had done her best to focus her thoughts as the hairdresser had dictated, but inevitably there were moments when her thoughts had wandered, especially when the pain and odours had distracted her. Deeper reflection had come later after the hairdresser had left for the day and she was all alone.

 

The raven soon returned with Loki's reply. It was typically facetious, but unusually short, signalling to Sigyn that he was preoccupied with his own cleansing to write a more satisfactory reply. No doubt that he had been subjected as the same abuse as she, but had not experienced the same inspiration for thoughtfulness as she had.

 

“We shall have a lot of sex,” he wrote, and that was all his note said.

 

At least he knew what his priorities were.

 

* * *

 

 

The day before their wedding ceremony a raven delivered a much more satisfactory letter to Sigyn from her beloved.

 

My darling Sigyn,

 

One week ago you wrote to me to ask what kind of marriage we would have and I wrote a reply which even at the time I knew would be offensive to you, not just because of it's brevity, but because of its coarseness, lack of thought, sensitivity, and care. You did not write back.

 

Allow me to improve on that note, although please do not dismiss it completely out of hand because I do believe that is much truth in it. On my side there will be coarseness, teasing, insensitivity, carelessness, poor judgement, selfishness, and greed. And for you, my dear, there will be much frustration, heart-ache, anger, embarrassment sadness, etc, etc. And, yes, there will be much sex. There is the coarseness again.

 

If you are feeling bewildered as to why I am painting such a gloomy picture for our marriage, then, firstly, let me assure you of how much I love you and how much I am in love with you. I love you so very, very much, Sigyn. I love you more than I have loved anyone else before. The day I realised this left me feeling startled and surprised, not because you are undeserving of such love (you deserve it more than anybody else I know) but because I did not know that I was capable of experiencing love at such a great depth and passion as I do for you. I thought that I had loved as much as I ever would and that the dizzying, electrifying, terrifying, overwhelming intensity of this emotion must only exist in people's imagination, exaggerated to make an otherwise colourless, dull life worth living or to sell a poem or two. And yet all this I feel because of you.

 

You are charming beyond measure, intelligent, witty, more caring than I thought a person could possibly be, beautiful, gentle, exuberant – your dazzling smile and enchanting laugh are things which I do my utter best to entice from you every time we meet – mostly thoughtful, but also wonderfully playful, and incredibly, astonishingly, astoundingly sexy.

 

Having written all of that please do be upset if I take us back to my prediction of what will be the weaknesses in our union. I believe that two people who are betrothed to one another should know the worst about one another so that they can be prepare themselves.

 

I did not list all of my flaws straight away for fear of you being driven away before I had chance to inform you of how much I adore you, but if you have read this far then I will assume that you are determined to throw your lot in with me, despite the sheer folly of such a commitment, and will continue with some of my other flaws.

 

Firstly, I sometimes have a tendency to take certain things for granted, such as all the good things in my life, and can lean towards a pessimistic outlook. I tell you now that you must never ever allow me to take you for granted. Never let me forget how blessed I am to have you in my life. Write it backwards on my forehead so may read it in the mirror, or bash me over the head with this letter if you have to, but do not let me forget.

 

Secondly, I have been told on many an occasion that I either feel too deeply or not all. This flaw is perhaps the chief among all my many faults. I can be cold and indifferent one day, or about one thing, or I can find myself trembling with rage over the smallest slight. I am ashamed to admit that I hold grudges which can last for years without them abating. It is not pleasant being this way and such fury hurts like a blunt razor being dragged across the skin. The Norns know that I have spent many years trying to even my own temper, but I have failed each time. I am sorry to say that I am stuck this way and always will be. However, I have noticed that the most effective way to diffuse my anger is simply for someone to point it out to me. Therefore, do tell me when I am being unreasonable, listen to me, accept me, love me, but do not put up with my nonsense.

 

There, I have openly listed some of my flaws (not all of them, I'm afraid) and since you are not here to tell me in person, I shall go ahead and name the flaws I have noticed in you.

 

You are vain, stubborn, sometimes too lazy and sometimes too energetic, you often slip into a daydream when spoken to, and often you are too afraid to speak your own mind, except when it suits you to and then you speak it too loudly.

 

But do not be disheartened by this assessment. All these flaws I share with you and I believe that I probably hold them to a greater degree than you do, apart from the daydreaming and the vanity.

 

Now we have gotten the negatives out of the way let us move onto the practicalities. Many of these have already been decided for us.

 

We will live on Asgard, on the edge of the forest in a reasonably sized house with a small number of servants. This you already knew, I think. Now, although you have not said as much, I know that this not what you truly want. You have no desire to be separated from your family and you are saddened at the thought that you will no longer be working alongside your father. Give me time to work on this problem.

 

As for my own employment, as you have seen I am constantly kept busy, the theory being that the busier I am the less trouble I will cause. Only time can prove this theory to be correct. I am viewed as a general problem solver, to be moved from office to office, or sent on diplomatic missions, as the need arises. Last year I restructured the army to make it more efficient, this year I find myself imprisoned within the counting house attempting the impossible of balancing the books without raising taxes or making cuts. Yes, it is as tedious as it sounds. And then of course are the frequent wars, rebellions, battles, skirmishes, etc I shall be obliged to partake in for the sake of keeping the peace within the Nine Realms. There will never be peace. What I am trying to say is that I shall be away much of the time, which depending on how you esteem me will be either be a blessing or a curse.

 

The next point is the least palatable to me and I much regret it, but warn you I must. There will be little in the way of honour for you to be my wife. I am a warrior and am a great one in my own right, but have amassed almost no glory over the years. I am a sorcerer, a shape-shifter, a trickster, and, now, a Jotun. Any mistrust or dislike the people have of me will inevitably be transferred onto you. For this I am eternally sorry. You have my word that I will protect you as best as I can.

 

That is more than said enough for the negatives and the practicalities, for the dull and spiritless aspects of marriage, so, what about the good things, the golden parts of our marriage?

 

Well, first of all, and not to put too fine a point on it, our marriage shall be ridiculous, but in the best ways possible. I am the god of Mischief, a trickster, and you are the compassionate, loyal one. We will either bring out the best or the worst in one another, but never will we be boring together. How that will manifest itself is something I look forward to exploring with you, as well as your mind and body. I expect that some days we might be delightfully silly together and others days overly serious, but never will there not be a reaction from two opposites living in the same space.

 

But, secondly, and more importantly, there shall be much love in our marriage, both emotional and physical. For my part, I shall do my utter most best to serve you, support you, protect you, and honour you as your one and only husband-sometimes-wife. As I shall view you and treat you as my equal, my partner in love and adventure. All that I possess and gain in future days will be shared with you – my property, my wealth, my magic, my body, my passions, my memories, my wisdom, my knowledge, my triumphs, and my misfortunes. Nothing shall be kept back from you. You even may keep my brother Thor all to yourself. And I should hope that you feel the same way about me.

 

What more can I say except that I have ridden the Bifrost all over the Nine Realms and have witnessed many scenes of ecstatic beauty and wonder during my so-far short life: I have seen giant dwarves using stars to power their forges to create jewellery, weapons, and gauntlets made of uru-gold; I have seen whole planets coated in a thick crust of ice and then washed in lava, creating clouds of steam and smoke so dense and enormous that the whole planet was concealed for a thousand years; I have seen flocks of birds adorned with feathers so beautiful that they could rival the jewels of a queen's, and leaping out of golden trees to try and swallow the stars; I have seen alchemists turn mud into wine and back again; I have seen weak men topple titans; I have seen skies as blue as your eyes, red as blood, purple as a bruise, grey as dust, and as black as ink; I have seen suns more powerful than a mother's love for their child and sun's smaller than a copper coin. I have seen so many amazing things, but not one of those things inspired within me such mighty and passionate emotions of love, awe, amazement, adoration, and tenderness as I feel for you and shall always feel for you.

 

Yours always,

Loki

 

* * *

 

 

They were knelt side by side, holding hands and with their eyes closed as the All-Father addressed the congregation.

 

“Below the branches of the Tree of Life, at its roots, sits the three Norns. Day and night they work tirelessly spinning, weaving, painting, and carving out the destiny and fate of each child, woman, man and god who exists in the Nine Realms. Their wisdom rules us all and none are overlooked. Therefore I remind all present here today that we all exactly where we should be, living the lives decided for us by those who wiser than ourselves. Let no man try to fight or alter the Fate decided for him.”

 

Beside her, his shoulder touching hers, she could sense how tense Loki was, nervous and fidgety. She was sure that Odin's final words had been for him and how they stung him! She was careful to rub her thumb over his knuckle, reminding him of her presence and soothing him.

 

She sensed Odin move behind them and then there was the quiet sound of the All-Father cutting off a lock of Loki's hair with the ceremonial dagger and then it was her turn. Odin lifted a trestle of hair (carefully arranged and tucked behind her ear prior to the commencement of the wedding) and she felt a slight tug as with a swift movement it was cut away.

 

“On this day the Norns have chosen to intertwine the Fates of Loki Odison and Sigyn Jolnirsdottir, represented here by the braiding of their hair...”

 

Sigyn opened her eyes to watch as the locks of hair floated in the air in a faint golden cloud before intertwining themselves together – ebony black and sky blue - and forming a tightly woven circle.

 

Thor then joined them to bless their union. The three of them held onto the handle of Mijolnir as Thor carefully and wonderfully recited his lines to hallow their marriage. As he did so Sigyn felt _something_ \- it was so hard describe - like the sensation of an invisible thread being wrapped around her waist and pulling her forward slightly. She was reassured to see that Loki had clearly felt the same sensation, and she knew then that they were no longer two single people, but in that moment had stepped over the dividing line between individualism and oneness. Only a single second had provided the split between being apart and now together for evermore.

 

Loki's emerald eyes were gleaming, wet with tears, and she was well aware that she was also weeping, touched by the life-changing moment that had now melded them together. It was the most profound, wonderful and terrifying moment she had ever experienced in her life before.

 

As Thor moved away he paused only to slap Loki heavily on the shoulder.

 

Odin stepped forward to say, “From this day they are on the same path and will endure the same destiny. May their union and their love stand the test of time. Only Fate and the will of the Norns can break the bond which now binds them together as man and wife, let no one else attempt to do so. You may kiss.”

 

Sigyn felt a thousand thrills course through her body as Loki pressed his mouth to hers.

 

Their wedding night went something like this:

 

“Ow!” moaned one.

 

“Ahhh!” gasped the other.

 

“Slow down,” begged one.

 

“Come closer,” whispered the other.

 

“Come now,” urged one.

 

“You are divine!” declared the other.

 

“Again?” they asked.

 

“We are one,” they panted. “We are done.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two months into their marriage and Loki was presented to Odin in heavy chains clasped to his neck, wrists and ankles. He was either oblivious to the gravity of the situation or in denial as he chuckled when he spotted Sigyn and Jolnir watching, distraught, from the side of the hall, next to Frigga.

 

“Don't make things worse for yourself,” his mother warned, looking drawn and weary.

 

In spite of this he still winked cheekily at Sigyn and she felt her heart sink fast as she knew then that he had every intention of worsening his situation as much as possible. She was grateful for the hand Jolnir placed on her shoulder.

 

The All-Father looked grave and as stern as a guard dog as he banged Gungnir on the floor to silence the room. “Loki Odinson -”

 

“Loki Jolnirson, if you don't mind.”

 

Frigga shook her head in despair and Sigyn buried her face in her hands.

 

“You turned your brother -”

 

“Not my brother.”

 

“The prince of Asgard, my heir, my _only_ son, into a frog.”

 

Loki's cackle filled the hall. “Oh, come on it was funny. I can't be the only one who found it funny.” He looked about the room but found no ally in his merriment.

 

“Attempted to kill my two ravens.”

 

“I didn't succeed, though.”

 

“And, worst of all, set fire to the Hall of Braids, destroying everything – every braid, lock and trestle, and every last strand of hair now ash, never to be restored!” Odin's voice had risen into a shout. “Is this how you repay us after I took you in, adopted you into our great family?”

 

Loki tilted his head to one side, chains clinking as he said, “Was this before or after you slaughtered thousands of my people? Members of the family you have not yet told me about?”

 

Odin made no effort to conceal his contempt as he spat out, “They invaded Earth. And you've never cared for the Frost Giants, don't pretend to now. “

 

“How could I when I was raised to see them only as monsters to be made extinct one day?”

 

The All-Father lent back into his throne, looking down at Loki with one eye as cool as ice. For a second that eye flicked over Sigyn and Jolnir. A thin smile spread across his lips.

 

“Should I view your crimes as a declaration of war, Loki?” he asked softly. “One man against the might of Asgard? Consider your answer very carefully.”

 

 _Please say no_ , Sigyn thought. _Please apologise._

 

“You may,” Loki answered without hesitation.

 

Jolnir immediately stepped forward, crying, “All-Father, please, he's upset! He doesn't know what he's done or what he is saying. He is my son-in-law now, leave him to me!”

 

“And he has committed treason and shall be tried as such.”

 

“You can't!” Sigyn shouted, running forward towards. Two guards immediately restrained her pulling her back. A fierce glance from Frigga and they released her.

 

There was icy fire in Odin's eye as once again he banged Gungnir on the floor and boomed, “Loki Jolnirson, you shall be sent to the dungeons where you will spend the rest of your days unless you express remorse for your crimes! Guards, take him away!”

 

* * *

 

“Hello, sweetheart.”

 

“Hello, wife. I'm afraid I forgot to tell you that I shall be late home for supper by about...a lifetime....”

 

Sigyn scrunched her delicate hands up into tight fists as she pressed her head against the cool stone wall, composing herself. She had never felt so angry in all her life! Not just because of the crimes he had committed, but now he dared to stare at her behind the glowing, magical barrier in his cell without so much an apology and with an infuriating devil-may-care attitude about him as though he had done nothing wrong at all.

 

When she next looked up at him it was with red hot tears shimmering in her eyes.

 

“Say you're sorry!” she hissed.

 

He shook his head and said calmly, “No.”

 

“Say you're sorry!” she yelled.

 

“I am not sorry for what I've done!” he shouted back.

 

With a strangled, angry growl Sigyn slammed her fists against the stone. It was enough to make the waiting guards nervous, their spears twitching as they considered intervening.

 

“SHHHT!” Loki hushed. “You'll be arrested if you continue to -”

 

“DO NOT -” Sigyn lowered her voice. “Do not shush me! Why, Loki? Why did you do those things?”

 

His expression remained hard and defiant as he jutted his chin out. “Because I had to.”

 

Sigyn shook her head. “That's not a reason or an excuse. Did you even think of me at all? Two months we've been married, Loki, two!”

 

“Two months,” he agreed.

 

“We were happy!”

 

“Were you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing. “Really?”

 

“Of course I was!”

 

“Still can't speak your mind. Oh, well.”

 

Sigyn did not understand what he meant, so instead she said, “If you would only apologise we could go home together! We could read Shakespeare and fly as the sun sets over the forest, like we do every day.”

 

His face softened and his eyes turned sorrowful, but still he shook his head and whispered, “I won't apologise.”

 

Tears streaming down her cheeks she said, “In your letter you promised to do your best for me because you love me! Keep your word and come home with me today!”

 

“No.”

 

Sigyn turned her back to him and slid down the wall to the hard stone floor.

 

“I do love you,” she heard him whisper.

 

For a moment she ignored him, but then she dabbed at her eyes on her handkerchief, and used her magic to summon up a cushion and a pile of books.

 

“Sigyn, what are you -”

 

“Setting up camp!” she snapped tearfully. “Because the two of us are going to be stuck here for a very long time.” She looked at him sharply. He was staring at her in awe and admiration. “This is where you tell me that I don't need to do this.”

 

“You don't need to do this,” he echoed obediently, still somewhat dumbfounded.

 

“Yes, I do! Because you told me that you love me and I believe you. I know what you are and that it is in your nature to cause trouble and I chose to marry you anyway. I will stand by my decision!”

 

The guard, who had listen in on their conversation and who felt some sympathy for Sigyn, quietly approached her and said, “M'am, I'm afraid it's against the rules to use magic here -”

 

“Then go and inform the King and Queen!” she snarled, throwing herself down on the cushion, arms folded, looking like a ferocious and petulant child. “I promise not to hinder you in your work and I also give you my solemn word that I will not set him free or make any attempt to do so. But, he is my husband, he is a fool, and I will stay by his side to remind him of that daily!”

 

The guard went away and Loki gave her a searing look. But then his anger quickly melted away and he too slipped to the floor, his back to hers.

 

“I am so sorry, Sigyn,” he said in a low, heavy voice.

 

She sniffed loudly. “Two months, Loki. Couldn't you have held your revenge back for a little longer?”

 

“Revenge?”

 

“You wanted to punish your family and now you have. Congratulations. How could you have not have foreseen the consequences? You truly are an idiot.”

 

He sighed. “I know. I know. And you must know that they will throw you out.”

 

“They can try, husband.”

 

And tried they did. Tried and failed repeatedly. They used reason, but it fell on stubborn ears. They sent in members of her family, but she ignored them all. They dared not use force for she simply threatened to write to the rulers of Alfheim and inform them of her mistreatment, which would have unwanted political ramifications. And because she had so neatly compacted herself and all her possessions against the side of the cell, into the tight corner, and never once bothered the guards or the other prisoners, in they end they simply allowed her to stay put. It wasn't very long before they became used to her and were no longer agitated by her presence, she was simply part of the dudgeons now as much as the flaming torches or the prisoners themselves.

 

It was hardly the most comfortable of existences. She had no privacy. If she wanted to change her clothes or relieve herself into a bucket then she would summon a set of curtains to conceal herself, but she was still very much exposed. Sympathetic servants would come and take the bucket away and bring her food and water, but it was humiliating. As an ice elf the coldness of the floor was not an issue, but it was hard and uncomfortable, leaving her stiff and achy.

 

She would pass the time by reading or drawing. Playing her flute was out of the question as it placed too much of an imposition upon the guards. She longed for the outside world, a soft bed, decent food and a true home. But, no matter how strong her desires became she still refused to leave Loki's side.

 

He had not spoken to her in two weeks. Every day before then he would urge, order, demand, plead, and beg for her to leave him and to return to their home, even for just a few hours, but she would not. He had turned his back on her and now refused to look at her, instead sitting with his head in his hands. She would tell him to apologise to Odin, but he would ignore her. Still, she would not leave his side.

 

By now her story had spread among the Aesir. Some praised her for her unshrinking loyalty, others labelled her as mad and downtrodden by a wicked husband, but all were fascinated by her and asked the guards for daily updates as to whether she remained in the dungeons and for details about everything she did and said.

 

Jolnir was more than a little frustrated by the situation, and because Sigyn would not even speak to him, went straight to the All-Father.

 

“My daughter has been down there for five months!” he lamented. “And is showing no signs of her will weakening!”

 

“Then let her remain there,” Odin replied, bluntly. “Loki knows what he has to do, needs to do, but he won't. And she won't leave him. They're as stubborn as each other. They've made their choices.”

 

“And what of your stubbornness, All-Father? Your choices?”

 

“I've done nothing to be ashamed of,” he replied simply as he filled Jolnir's goblet with wine. “I showed Loki mercy by not executing him and by offering an easy way out. I'm showing mercy to your daughter by allowing her to remain by her side rather than punishing her. There is nothing more I can do.”

 

Jolnir shook his great head and gulped the wine down quickly, before indicating that he would like a top-up.

 

“And what of our friendship?” he demanded. “Does it not mean anything to you?”

 

“It means a great deal to me! But, we are two very different people, Jolnir. Our paths diverged a long time ago. Your way is to show love and compassion to all, giving every child a free gift once a year. But my way is to rule and not to give into childish stubbornness.”

 

Frigga could remain silent no longer. “Of, for heaven's sake, how much longer must I endure all this bullheadedness! From you, Loki, and Sigyn – all as obstinate as the other! Odin, this situation cannot be allowed to continue. The girl will slowly waste away and I know that you do not wish for that to happen.”

 

Odin nodded. “I do not,” he admitted, offering Jolnir a sad smile. “But I must be seen to be strong. Once I have made a decision I cannot go back on it.”

 

“Then banish them to Alfheim!” Jolnir urged, knocking the goblet over. “And portray it as an act of mercy for Sigyn! You cannot deny that sympathy for her grows. Your people will not be impressed if she is allowed to suffer. And Loki will then be my responsibility. You can be rid of them both, be seen to being merciful, strong, but still punishing them, and you won't have to concern yourself with Loki possibly acting against you because I will be watching him closely.”

 

“Alfheim...?” Odin was thinking back to seven months earlier when Loki had begged him to be allowed to move with Sigyn to her home world where she would be happier. He had refused him every time. Had this been Loki's plan all along? Devious little - “Very well. They shall both be exiled to Alfheim, never to return to Asgard! However, as a gesture of goodwill to you and to honour her actions I will make Sigyn the goddess of Compassion and Loyalty. I will do nothing more, now take them and go!” And then after a moment's consideration, softly added, “Look after him.”

 

The following day, Loki and Sigyn were sat on the roof of her parents' castle in the Ice Realm of Alfheim, staring at a moon as white as the snow that lay beneath it.

 

“In my letter I wrote that I would work on the problem of getting us to Alfheim and I did,” Loki explained proudly. “I planned everything carefully, doing just enough to have me sent to the dungeons and I knew that Jolnir would make an appeal for your sake and my sake in turn. And it worked beau -ARGH!”

 

Sigyn had punched him hard on the chin.

 

“Don't lie to me!” she growled. “This wasn't just for my sake. You have been waiting for an excuse to lash out at your family, to punish them. And now you've lost your home! Are you happy about that?”

 

“I couldn't care less,” he said, flatly.

 

“Then think of your mother! Her love for you is so great that her hurt must also be greater than anyone else's! And how could you destroy all those hair braids, all that history? They can't be restored from the ashes.”

 

“Those? Nothing sentimental about them, but a show of power,” he scoffed. “The longer and thicker the braid the more powerful the family. They needed to go. And Frigga can always come and visit, once she forgives me and if you let her stay.”

 

“I will.”

 

Loki fiddled with his hands. “I did do it partially for you. I want you to be as happy as possible. On Asgard, you could never fulfil your happiness potential. And what you did for me....you're the strongest person I know. I mean it.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I love you so much, Sigyn. Thank you for not leaving me.”

 

She shifted closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and took his hand in hers.

 

“I love you too much to abandon you to your own stupidity,” she whispered. They watched as one of Jolnir's reindeer flew across the moon before landing neatly in the snow again. “It's going to be an eventful eternity.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_AN: Phew! Thanks for reading!_

_LOL, did you enjoy my not-so-subtle allusions to the original mythology? Even when Loki was being punished for the death of Balder, Sigyn refused to leave his side, and thus divided opinion over her character for all time. Some admire her for her devotion and others view her as being weak-willed. Were Loki and Sigyn ever in love or was it simply a marriage of convenience? Did she remain by his side out of an obligation to duty, because she had no where else to go,or was it love? We will never know....but at least it gives us plenty to write about!_

_The poem Loki was reading was called Love (iii) by George Herbert. I almost made the mistake of having Loki read something by Shelley or Byron, but 1810 is still a little early for them. Lucky Loki has some much wonderful poetry to look forward to_

 

 


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group land in Alfheim

 

 

With a hollow boom and a burst of colour the sleigh burst out of the wormhole as gracefully as a brick through a corner shop window and straight into a raging snowstorm.

 

The icy wind howled and battered itself against the side of the sleigh. The snowflakes rushed around them like a murmuration of starlings, completely obscuring the way ahead. And below.

 

“Here we are, kids!” Jolnir boomed from the front of the sleigh. “Welcome to Alfheim! And just in time for a spot of lunch.”

 

The two reindeer grunted with the exertion of keeping the sleigh stable and in the air. No one could argue that they did not manage the latter, but as for the former, the sleigh was being tossed and about and pushed to and fro most violently despite the reindeer's best efforts.

 

For Sherlock Holmes, who always liked to know where he was going, the situation was almost intolerable and he knew that there was a very real risk that he might just throw up before freezing to death. In fact the only one who seemed to be truly happy right then was Thor. The god of the sky was jumping up and down so hard that the sleigh rocked, and whooping with excitement and swinging the still defunct Mjolnir over his head. Matters were made worse when Jolnir felt the need to copy him.

 

Sherlock physically clung onto Molly, for both safety and warmth, and mentally clung onto the contents of his stomach. With each fresh jerk and jolt he reminded himself that willpower was all he had.

 

“Knock it off, you two!” Sigyn shouted over the roar of the wind. “You're like a couple of big kids!”

 

“I'm only giving our guests a bit of excitement!”

 

“Please just land!”

 

Sherlock was silently grateful to Sigyn and more than a little relieved to see the bashful look on Jolnir's face as he settled back down into his seat and gently pulled back on the reins.

 

The sleigh dropped sharply another couple of feet and suddenly they were under the snowstorm. Above their heads the storm continued to rage in iron grey clouds, but they were no longer touched by it. The snowflakes fell lazily here, slowly drifting around them.

 

“We like our privacy,” Jolnir explained. “The snowstorm shields us. Ah! There it is - home sweet home!”

 

Feeling that his stomach was no longer turning somersaults, Sherlock leaned forward to peer over the side along with Molly. They were circling over a barren wasteland of ice and snow. There was a three-storey castle, gripping the very edge of a steep cliff and under it a grey and blue sea, and stretching out behind it fields and forests. The castle was square and with a flat roof surrounded by a parapet. The only truly interesting feature was the turret-tower which rose up in the middle. It was not the largest castle they had ever seen or even the most beautiful looking, but as with people, it's the heart that really matters.

 

Jolnir circled round – very slowly - eventually landing in front of the castle. The sleigh came to a skiddering, juddering halt, the reindeer kicking up snow as they came to an eventual stop.

 

Gracefully, Jolnir manoeuvred his voluminous belly out from behind the dashboard and hopped down into the snow.

 

Placing two hands onto his lower back and groaning loud enough for all to hear he then said, “Oh, dearie me, it aches! Know any good cures for back ache, Dr Hooper?”

 

“We-ell.....” Molly hedged, glancing down at that large tummy.

 

Father Christmas laughed heartily and ruffled up her hair.

 

“You're a good girl! Always were! Did you forget about the letter you wrote aged seven advising me to lose weight? Loki was sure to pass that onto me. As you can see I listened very carefully!”

 

He gently patted his stomach.

 

Molly looked startled.

 

“Loki reads the letters?” Although she had retained no clear memory of what she had written she still felt embarrassed to know that god of mischief had knowledge of the playthings she had coveted as a child. She was sure that Cabbage Patch dolls and Care Bears had featured predominately.

 

“All of them. Replies to some on my behalf, too.” Jolnir lent forward to whisper, “Between you and me he would like to create the presents but not even Sigyn is ready for that. He was a tad disappointed so we showed him a film to help him understand how difficult it can be....now what was it called?”

 

Molly thought hard. She was starting to feel the cold and it was becoming difficult to concentrate.

 

“The Santa Clause?” she guessed.

 

Jolnir shook his head, stroking his fluffy beard. His eyes suddenly lit up.

 

“The Nightmare Before Christmas! Yes, that's what would be like if Loki was in charge.”

 

Sherlock had been admiring the view – the moon here was more blue than one back home and gave everything that shade – but now he lent over the side to say, “You think highly of your son-in-law.”

 

Jolnir laughed. “I do! But, I also don't want a repeat of 1947. Now he really did push his luck back then, even if he did pose as my lawyer and got me off a charge of assault*. Nasty business that.”

 

In the back of the sleigh Sigyn was shaking her husband awake. And when gentle shaking failed to work slapped his cheek, an action which many people within the Nine Realms would have readily and gladly volunteered for.

 

“Loki, wake up, we're home.”

 

Loki groaned groggily as he sat up, head in hands, while Sigyn rubbed circles into his back with the hope that it would bring him back to full alertness faster.

 

Rather blearily he glanced around at his surroundings until his gaze fell on Sherlock and Molly, who were staring back at him. Then his eyes cleared and became sharp again as he narrowed them and demanded bluntly, “Why are they here?”

 

Sherlock had the distinct feeling that now he was back home Loki would not behave as charmingly as he had done while reliant on himself and Molly for assistance. He supposed that time would tell if Loki's charm was purely superficial or if it went bone deep. But if his charm was all an act and if he was purely a troublemaker then what did Sigyn see in him? She was holding onto him so tenderly that Sherlock almost felt something like jealously. Almost because he was above such petty emotions.

 

“They were invited,” Thor answered. “And they deserve some explanations for being attacked, don't you think?”

 

Those penetrating eyes of Loki fell on Thor. A lesser man would have looked away.

 

“And why are _you_ here?”

 

“Because Sigyn begged me to help her rescue poor, helpless you.”

 

“And going by the state of your hammer I assume that you did a marvellous job of that.”

 

“I did better than you.”

 

Before the argument could escalate further the doors to the castle were suddenly flung wide open and an elf dressed in a long robe with fur trimming and wearing a face screwed up in mental agony came dashing out. She wrapped her thin arms around Jolnir's chest, burying her head deep into his shoulder.

 

“Jolly, you are safe?” she cried in a shrill voice.

 

Jolnir patted her hair.

 

“As houses, my sweet. And not only did I find our wayward son-in-law, I've also brought home some guests. Three to be precise. Thor you already know. And these are Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. They -”

 

Astra's hands had flown to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness, mortals! How did they ever survive the trip?” She dashed towards them and began inspecting them carefully, pressing her hands to their foreheads, pinching their cheeks and peering inside their earholes. “Were you hurt, my dears? Traumatised in any way? Inside at once, before you all catch your deaths!”

 

They obediently stepped forward, but then Astra screamed, “No, wait! Don't you set a foot inside this place, not until I've had time to mortal-proof the castle!”

 

She gathered up the end of her robe into her hand and began to wade back through the snow, clearly all of a fluster. The whole party, with the exception of Loki who rarely felt shame, swapped embarrassed glances at one another or looked at their feet. Sigyn felt the most mortified and it showed on her face.

 

“They're not that delicate -” Jolnir began.

 

“Shh, Jolly!” Astra hissed. “Anything could happen to them! Loki! Sigyn! You two had better dismantle the trap spells.”

 

“But, Mum -” Sigyn began, still holding onto Loki.

 

“No buts, just go!”

 

“Hello, Mum,” Loki greeted her in attempt to distract her as he was no mood for doing chores. Not that he was ever in the mood. “Have you been awfully worried?”

 

“I've no desire to talk to you,” Astra declared dismissively, waving her arm. “You're a very silly young shape-shifter.” She suddenly whirled around and began to give him the once-over – forehead, cheek, earhole – all the while asserting what a foolish, stupid, silly shape-shifter he was. Thor enjoyed this display very much and watched them with rapt attention while trying not to laugh.

 

And it was only when she had finished that she returned to anxiously ushering Sherlock and Molly through the doors and into the porch, having already forgotten about the trap spells which only two minutes ago had urgently needed un-doing.

 

* * *

 

_*LOL, I was asked to put in a reference to Miracle on 34_ _th_ _Street, so I did. I hope this is okay :D_

_It's funny because in that film Santa lives in an old people's home.....did Loki put him there like he did Odin? Does Loki just have this bad habit of putting people into old people homes if they annoy him?!_

 

_Father Christmas or Santa Clause? Although, they're the same character now (since The Night Before Christmas poem really cemented them together) they have different origins. Santa Clause comes from St Nicholas while Father Christmas is more a representation of the spirit of Christmas with Pagan roots, and used to be also called Old Man Christmas. He didn't have anything to do with giving gifts to children._

 

_Thanks for reading! This was a much shorter chapter and I know not much happens, so have some drabbles!_

 

* * *

 

**1985**

 

“Dear Father Christmas, I want a Care Bear, please. Thank you for the presents. P.S don't eat too many mince pies. Love Moolly.”

 

Loki tiredly threw down the letter, made a note of the request, and snatched up his pen.

 

“Dear Molly,” he wrote. “Thank you for the thank you. It's always nice to be appreciated. However, I should add that when you can spell your own name correctly then I will be more willing to take personal advice from you. Have a very merry Christmas, Father Christmas.”

 

He read out the next letter:

 

“Dear Father Christmas, please may I have a REAL pirate's hat. I have been a really good boy this year. Yours, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

It made Loki sigh heavily, but he began the terse reply straight away.

 

“Dear Sherlock Holmes, this is the second time you have requested a REAL pirate's hat and the answer is still the same: no! You see, REAL pirates are highly unpleasant individuals who carry not one-shot pistols and cutlasses, but machine guns designed to mow their victims down in seconds. Instead of knocking back rum and singing, “Yo ho!” they...well, never you mind what they do. But my point is this: I will NOT be sneaking onboard one of their ships just so I can nick one of their sweat-stained hats on your behalf. I don't even know if they wear hats. No, for the second time, what you want is a FANTASY pirate's hat, black, triangular and with the skull-and-crossbones symbol. This is what you shall get and you will be grateful or there will be no presents next year. Happy Christmas.”

 


	12. Author's Note

AN: I feel embarrassed to write this but I have been struggling to continue this fic. I've enjoyed writing it, but there are things I wanted to go back and change....

Anyway, for now I've started a new fic of one-shots surrounding these characters. I always struggle with writing continuous storylines, but with one-shots I don't have that pressure. It also gives me more freedom to explore the characters and the relationships between them, as well practise for writing relationships.

I said I felt embarrassed and I do. I've been touched by how many people have left kind reviews, so many more than I deserve, so I feel bad for not finishing the fic.

And now I feel embarrassed for advertising another fic, but what I'm trying to say if you want to read more of Sherlock and Loki having silly adventures with Father Christmas then maybe you'll enjoy this new fic. You'll find it on my author's page.

Take care, guys, and thanks so much for reading and for all the lovely reviews. Most of all, thank you for your patience.

 


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